The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (4 page)

Landing Bay Three, where a squadron of ten Eagles should have been ready to launch at a moment’s notice was a shambles. Engineers had started with the repairs, however, Billy’s order to prioritise the micro-circuitry and get Main Power restored, had now drawn them away from those repair tasks.

On the Landing Ramp, Billy could see a detail of eight visored Landing Troopers kneeling with their weapons pointed out towards the approaching horsemen.

Officer Gummell had been his usual efficient self, having delivered the four antique-looking chests of coins and jewels to the Landing Bay.

“Are we secure here, J-Troop?” Billy asked the black-clad Junior Troop Commander, as he checked the contents of the four chests.

Removing a single diamond the size of a chicken’s egg from one of the chests, Billy stepped over to the hatch of the Landing Bay where the Troopers were focussed on the expected guests.

“Yes, sir,” the young Thexxian in charge of thirty Troopers replied. “We’ve got some force-shielding, plus they make a really big target.”

“Okay, no shooting unless it gets really hairy, you understand?”

“Clear, sir. You hear that!? No shooting unless the First Admiral says so!” he conveyed the message to the detail.

The Troopers remained focussed on the approaching horsemen, who drew up in a great cloud of dust; forming a semi-circle behind their leader.

“Name yourself sir!” the leader shouted from his saddle. “And, surrender in the name of the King!” he demanded.

Well, at least the ULTra works here, Billy considered, reflecting that the Universal Language Translator was still functional. This was quite a relief to Billy as he was not quite sure how far his three years of Modern French would stand up to the medieval version.

The ULTra mechanism easily converted the vocabulary, grammar and syntax to a form that Billy could understand and be understood in. The language of every intelligent species in the universe was originally a derivation of Garmaurian. The Garmaurians, seeding the universe with colonies, needed a common language to communicate with their servants, and what better than their own tongue?

Strolling calmly through the force-shielding, Billy activated the highest level of protection on his Personal Environment Suit with a simple thought-command. After around six casual steps, Billy stopped half way down the deployed Landing Ramp and raised his right hand in greeting.

“Welcome friend, I am First Admiral William Caudwell, and whom do I have the honour of addressing?”

“I am Joscelin, Lord of Edessa, Seneschal to his Majesty the King of Jerusalem, and you are my prisoner, Admiral Guillaume,” the lead horseman said bravely, and gestured to the men behind him who lowered their lance points towards Billy.

“I don’t really think so.”

“You make a brave noise for someone outnumbered and alone,” Joscelin of Edessa announced drawing his sword.

“J-Troop!?” Billy half-turned to the ship.

“Sir!”

“Big rock, over there!” Billy pointed to large boulder amongst the scrubby vegetation about two hundred metres away. “Make it disappear!”

“Aye, sir.”

“Watch and learn,” Billy smiled to the lance-bearing horseman, who stared at him in confusion.

An instant later, a pulsar-bolt streaked from the Landing Bay, sped between two lance-bearers and struck the boulder; causing it to explode in a huge burst of flame, dust and debris. The startled war-horses shied and whinnied in alarm, as their terrified riders fought to control the panicking animals. Lances toppled to the ground, as did several chainmail-clad riders whilst Joscelin of Edessa fought with the reins of his own horse.

“What kind of devil are you?” Joscelin snarled bringing his horse under control as the dust settled from the huge explosion.

“No devil, My Lord Seneschal, just weary travellers marooned in a strange land trying to get back home.”

“A strange ship for a seafarer? And, far from the sea.”

“A strange ship from a far off land, but, perhaps we can impose upon your hospitality for a short while as we make our repairs,” he smiled and threw the diamond to the Seneschal of Jerusalem. Billy watched cautiously as the horseman caught the diamond in his right hand and began to scrutinise the huge gem.

“I’m sure we can manage to, shall we say, compensate you adequately for any damage and inconvenience we might cause during our stay.”

“That is not my decision to make.” The Seneschal swiftly pocketed the diamond for himself.

“That’s okay, you can keep that one; we have lots more like it.”

“It is the King who decides such matters, and His Majesty is indisposed at the moment.”

“Yes, I do believe that His Majesty doesn’t keep well. Perhaps our Chief Physician might be of assistance.”

“I doubt if your Physician is any better than those who tend His Majesty now.”

“Ah, so your Physicians also have a cure for leprosy then?”

Joscelin squirmed uncomfortably on his saddle as he watched the insincerely smiling face of the red-haired newcomer with the strange clothing and even stranger ship.

“No one can cure leprosy, it is God’s will that His Majesty was afflicted.”

“Then, perhaps it is God’s will that we should be marooned here to help His Majesty. Either way, we must pay our respects, offer our gifts and submit our petition to stay whilst we make our repairs.”

“Only subjects may petition the King.”

“Then, as we are temporarily stranded on your lands, are we not subject to your laws and customs?”

“This is so, but the King is too ill to read petitions.”

“Then he has even greater need of our Physician than ever, after all, what do you have to lose?” Billy indicated the four open chests on the edge of the Landing Bay.

Torn between greed for the contents of the chests and fear for what might happen to him if these strange, and powerful, newcomers should cause harm to the stricken King, Joscelin squirmed. Then, remembering the huge diamond in his pocket, his greed won the argument.

“Very well, I will conduct you to the Palace where His Majesty’s sister will decide upon your fate, bring out your horses and your escort.”

“No need,” Billy smiled and turned to the Landing Bay door once more, gesturing with his thumb to allow a vehicle to exit.

From the Landing Bay door, the heavy whine of an anti-gravity generator punctured the heavy silence as a Personnel Carrier emerged from behind the force-shielding.

Nearly five metres long, the Personnel Carrier possessed a sharp ‘V’-shaped nose behind which a pilot and commander sat. Behind them, two long bench-like seats were housed in an open-topped, high-sided compartment that terminated in a drop-ramp for easy exit.

The mounted Knights stared in awe as the vehicle drew to a halt halfway down the Landing Ramp.

“No need for horses, My Lord Seneschal,” Billy smiled triumphantly. “We have something that is much quicker!”

“What in the...” Joscelin gasped, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Can I offer you a lift, My Lord?” Billy smiled cheekily.

The War Room, Star Destroyer Titan

Second Admiral, and Chief of Staff, Marrhus Lokkrien stared in incredulity at the image on the two-dimensional View Screen. The great gaping maw of whatever was out there had just claimed the flagship of the Universal Alliance Fleet, and with it, the First Admiral.

“Scanners! Report!” the tall, dark-haired Lokkrien bellowed to the Officers and Technicians who inhabited the banks of consoles in front of the War Table that fed him the updated information he needed to make decisions.

“She’s gone, sir.”

“I can see that! Where has she gone!?”

“We can’t penetrate deep enough into whatever that is, sir.”

As the one and only Bardomil in the service of the Universal Alliance Fleet, Lokkrien had defected from the Imperial Fleet when Billy Caudwell had defeated and destroyed a formation of nine Imperial Fighter Carriers and their escorts over a year before. Viewed with the deepest suspicion and mistrust by the vast majority of Alliance Fleet personnel, Lokkrien was biding his time until Billy Caudwell finally subdued the Bardomil Empire. Until that day, however, Lokkrien had to keep a low profile despite his rank as the effective second-in-command to Billy Caudwell.

“Come on Scanners, wake up!” Lokkrien bellowed. “It’s not a wormhole and it’s not a black hole, so what is it?”

“We don’t know sir, there’s nothing like it configured in our system! It’s an entirely new phenomenon, sir.”

“It can’t possibly be! Search again and get me some answers!”

“Radiation sensors picked up a huge burst of Lissian radiation just before the phenomenon appeared,” another Scanner Technician reported.

“Lissian?” Lokkrien questioned.

“Yes, sir,” the reading went right off the chart, then that…thing…appeared.”

“Lissian?” Lokkrien questioned himself quietly.

It had been over a year since the Bardomil Empress had tried to scorch planet Earth out of existence with a massive solar flare generated by a Lissian radiation weapon. With his mind still racing, Lokkrien considered that they were dozens of parsecs away from Earth. This could not be another Bardomil Lissian weapon, Lokkrien mused.

But, the Lissian connection was compelling in Lokkrien’s mind. And, the Bardomil had been remarkably quiet since the Ganthoran Empire had been annexed into the Universal Alliance. Too quiet perhaps, Lokkrien postulated.

Both the Bardomil Empire and the Universal Alliance now eyed each other warily along a massive de-militarized zone. In a deal brokered after the collapse of the Ganthoran Empire, diplomats from both sides had carved up the systems bordering the two massive power blocs and had created the buffer zone that each side now watched closely. However, there seemed to be no reason for any Bardomil aggression at this time. There were no political or territorial disputes, no active crises and no areas of contention that would drive even the near-insane Bardomil Empress Lullina to risk a military showdown.

The Alliance was busily trying to integrate the huge Ganthoran Empire into the fledgling democratic structures that were still forming to govern the fastest expanding political and military entity in the universe. The last Bardomil attack on the Alliance had been a costly defeat for the Empress Lullina. And, Lokkrien was not sure if the Bardomil were militarily strong enough to have another crack at the Alliance just yet.

The final showdown with the Bardomil Empire was inevitable in the mind of Marrhus Lokkrien. But, given the weakened state of his former masters, Lokkrien considered that creating a weapon capable of eliminating the First Admiral would be the next logical step for the Bardomil to take. It was the strategic and tactical genius of the young red-haired human that still forged the path for the Alliance’s expansion. Somehow, the young human had a grasp of universe-wide strategy that astonished the older and more experienced commanders in the Alliance. Removing Billy Caudwell would seriously, if not terminally, weaken the Alliance.

“Sir,” the Weapons and Tactical Officer, the WATO, broke into Lokkrien’s contemplation, “you have to take command of the Fleet, sir.”

“What!?” the still angry Lokkrien snapped at the Thexxian WATO. “Comms can you raise the flagship?” he turned to the Communications banks.

“Sir,” the WATO persisted, “the First Admiral is gone; you must take command.”

“No, sir,” a Communications Officer replied nervously.

“Can anyone do anything around here!?”

“Sir!” the WATO finally bellowed. “Will you listen to me for one second, SIR!!?”

“What is it?”

“Sir, the First Admiral is gone, you must take command of the Alliance Fleet, sir.”

“No! First Admiral Caudwell is not dead!”

“He doesn’t need to be dead, sir. He is out of communication in a phenomenon we don’t understand...”

“I will not declare Billy Caudwell dead until you put his lifeless corpse down here in front of me on this table!” Lokkrien jabbed his finger at the top of the War Table. “Has anyone sent a probe into that thing?”

“Probe launched, sir.”

“Sir,” the WATO persisted, “there is no one in command, no one to make decisions or issue orders.”

“Yes there is, we are going to get the First Admiral out from whatever that is! Is that clear WATO!?”

“Crystal, sir! But until we do, someone has to take command!”

“What’s happening with that probe!?”

“Probe was crushed in the gravity, sir.”

“AARGH!!” Lokkrien bellowed, turning away from the WATO and slamming his fists down on the top of the War Table.

“What are your orders, sir?” the WATO demanded.

For a moment, Lokkrien drew a heavy breath and started to think.

“Very simple. They must have gone somewhere. We search for them! We find them! We get them back!”

If we’re not already too late, Lokkrien considered.

Planet Geminus - The City of Jerusalem

Less than twenty minutes after leaving the downed Aquarius, two stealthed Personnel Carriers sailed easily over the high walls of Jerusalem and changed course for the highest point in the city; the Royal Palace.

Seated next to the pilot in the lead Carrier, Billy Caudwell smiled and turned to give a hearty thumbs-up to Joescelin of Edessa in the well of the vehicle. The anxious and queasy-looking Seneschal smiled grimly and tried not to look over the edge of the Carrier at the drop of nearly three hundred metres to the ground. Joscelin much preferred to focus his attention on one of the chests of coins and jewels that would soon be resting in the Royal Treasury. The contribution from the strange Outlanders would keep the Kingdom running for nearly a decade, and would pay off some of the debt owed to the Knights Templar who ran a thriving money lending business throughout Europe.

A hearty slap on his chain-mailed leg dragged Joscelin’s attention away from the bounty that lay close to him, and onto the pale face of the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Aquarius. Chief Medical Officer Ullit Radkor was a Cerador. With jet black hair swept back from his pale grey face and the sharp hawk-like nose, Radkor looked every inch a dangerous predator. The instincts of his species were those of natural hunters and killers, which made the Ceradors excellent candidates for the Landing Trooper Brigades. Ullit Radkor, however, had possessed less of the killer instinct of his fellow Ceradors, and had become a healer.

Smiling weakly to the grinning Medical Officer, Joscelin wondered for the dozenth time if he was doing the right thing bringing the Outlanders to the Royal Palace. Contemplating the chests that would save the Kingdom’s finances, while sitting next to the Physician from a vessel that they claimed flew amongst the stars, Joscelin knew that he really had no choice. The Kingdom was nearly broke and the young King was dying. Joscelin knew that he had nothing to lose, but still it troubled him that he was placing so much faith in these Outlanders.

Joscelin was broken from his contemplation by the sensation that the Personnel Carrier was dropping. Risking a glance over the edge, he could see that the invisible vehicle was indeed reducing altitude prior to landing in one of the secluded courtyards.

“Hold on!” Chief Medical Officer Radkor shouted in Joscelin’s ear and looped his arms through the two straps built into the seat behind him.

Following the example, Joscelin slipped his arms into the two loops before crossing his hands across his chest. Secured by the elbows, Joscelin felt the slight bump as the Carrier landed and the rear ramp dropped down. Around him, his own people were struggling to free themselves from the safety straps. The black-overalled Landing Troopers, experts at the rapid dismount, simply relaxed their arms and stood straight up whilst Joscelin wrestled and fumbled to free his limbs.

“I’ll help you, My Lord,” Chief Medical Officer Radkor said, his voice carrying over the quiet, but persistent, hum of the anti-gravity generator that held the stealthed Carrier half a metre from the ground.

Turning to his left, Joscelin saw First Admiral Caudwell vault from the Commander’s Seat next to the pilot, and out onto the stone floored courtyard with a loud crash of his booted feet. The silver–visored Landing Troopers were already moving the treasure chests out of the vehicle, whilst his own men still struggled with the safety straps.

“There we go, My Lord,” Radkor announced, having freed Joscelin’s arms.

“Thank you,” Joscelin mumbled politely, his attention still fixed on the chests as he rose from the bench seat. “Come on, you fools!” he chided his own struggling men as he barged past them and out into the courtyard.

Stepping down from the stealthed Carrier, Joscelin felt the weird sensation of being able to see into the vehicle without seeing the vehicle itself. As he experienced the sensation, the first of his own men stumbled out of the rear ramp, tripping on his sword. With a growl of irritation, Joscelin turned to Billy Caudwell.

“I must go and announce your arrival to Her Highness,” Joscelin said. “When you have unloaded all of your men, my Sergeant-at-Arms will take you to the Main Courtyard where you may formally present your gifts, providing the idiot doesn’t get you lost in the Palace,” he snarled and stalked off to the Private Apartments.

“Are you ready Ullit?” Billy asked Radkor, who had emerged from the Carrier and was checking the portable Med-Kit that he had brought with him.

“As I’ll ever be,” Radkor smiled, closing the top of the pale-blue satchel with the white and red diamond-shaped insignia of the Medical Corps.

“It’s not every day you get to cure royalty of an incurable disease is it?”

The loudening hum of the anti-gravity generator announced the departure of the vehicle, whilst a similar sound announced the arrival of the second in the courtyard.

“By Royal Appointment? You never know, you might end up saluting me.”

“Don’t hold your breath waiting on that score, Ullit,” Billy laughed.

With Joscelin’s men still stumbling out of the Carrier, Billy watched the immaculately turned-out Landing Troopers form up. Their black helmets gleaming, and their silvered, reflecting visors down, the Troopers made an impressive and intimidating sight.

“If you’ll follow me, please, sir,” said one of Joscelin’s men.

“Lead on, Sergeant.”

“Sir.” The Sergeant-at-Arms marched nervously away.

The march to the Main Courtyard was barely one hundred metres; however, the Troopers made enough noise with their marching feet to be heard throughout the entire Palace. Entering the Main Courtyard, Billy saw the simple elegance of marbled floors and tinkling fountains decorated by a myriad of plants. Parrots, with feathers in a rainbow of beautiful colours, flitted from plant to plant, chewing the berries and squabbling amongst themselves. Billy also saw a congregation of around one hundred armed men in chain mail, with swords and surcoats of many colours. Watching them from the corner of his eye, Billy could see hands slowly travelling to the hilts of scabbarded swords.

“Welcome, friends!” Joscelin announced formally from beside the large empty throne that dominated the Courtyard. “Her Highness, the Princess Sibylla will be delighted to receive you in a few moments,”

A murmur of alarm and confusion rose up from the men in the Courtyard. Looking round, Billy could see two distinct groups. One group congregated around a man seated to the left and in front of the large throne. This man was a soldier wearing chain mail and a burgundy surcoat with the royal arms of Jerusalem emblazoned on the front. Remembering the history briefing, Billy concluded that this would be the High Constable; responsible for a great deal of the military might of the Kingdom. On the opposite side, priests and monks gathered round a short, well-dressed and overweight man. He was some kind of Bishop or clergyman, Billy concluded, remembering that in this time Church and State were inextricably linked.

“Sir, may I look at your arm?” Chief Medical Officer Radkor’s voice sounded in the deafening, suspicion-laden silence from behind Billy.

Turning around, Billy could see Radkor speaking to a young man who held a shield limply in his left arm.

“And, who would you be, Outlander?” an older man, wearing the same blue surcoat as the young man, stepped forward, threateningly, gripping the pommel of his sword.

“I am a Physician, sir, and, I believe I can help this young man.”

“Ullit! This is not why we came here,” Billy said, watching the potentially dangerous situation unfold with a wary eye.

“Sir, this young man is in great pain, it is my duty to try to help him.”

Several heads in the Courtyard nodded with agreement and approval.

“Let him proceed, Jacques,” Joscelin announced from beside the throne. “If the boy is in pain, let him try to ease his suffering,” he added, curious to see this Outlander Physician in action.

“Please, sir, let me help him,” Radkor said to Jacques.

“Very well.”

“What’s your name, sir?” Radkor asked the young man.

“I’m Marc of Ibelin,” the fair-haired young man replied nervously.

“How did you hurt that arm?”

“He saved my life, taking a Saracen blade that was meant for me,” the older man said with a mixture of sadness and pride.

“Father, I...” Marc protested with embarrassment written on his face.

“It’s true, he took a Saracen blade that would have struck my head off. Instead it crippled my brave son’s arm.”

“Take your shirt off, I want to see this wound,” Radkor ordered firmly, but politely.

“Father?” Marc looked anxiously at Jacques.

“Go ahead,” Jacques ordered, “Clement, help your brother.”

The shield was dropped to the ground with a loud clatter as the older brother, Clement, began to help Marc out of his surcoat and chain mail.

When the wound was finally, and painfully exposed, Radkor saw a deep gash running from the base of Marc’s neck down over his shattered left shoulder blade to the level of his left elbow. Considerable scarring indicated that the wound had been sealed at the time with a red-hot iron to stop the blood flow.

“Right, Marc, I’m going to examine you with this little machine,” Radkor explained showing Marc and those watching the cylinder-shaped portable Med-Scanner he had brought with him. “It won’t hurt and you won’t feel anything.”

Sweeping the Med-Scanner over the young man’s back, Radkor assessed the level of damage.

“By the healing to your shoulder blade, this wound is over a year old.”

“That is correct,” Jacques confirmed watching the proceedings anxiously.

“You’re in pain now, Marc?” Radkor asked.

“Yes.”

“But sometimes the arm tingles all the way down to the fingertips and sometimes it is numb and you can’t move it?”

“Yes.”

“Can you flex your fingers for me? Like this” he demonstrated forming his left hand slowly into a fist and then releasing the fingers again.

Slowly and painfully, Marc gasped as he managed to bend his fingers slightly and no more.

“Can you lift your arm, like this, for me?” Radkor straightened his left arm and lifted it to shoulder level in front of him.

With a grimace of agony, Marc tried to lift his arm, and failed.

“What about trying to turn it like this?” Radkor turned his hand over and back again.

“No!” Marc hissed with excruciating pain as he tried to copy the Chief Medical Officer.

“Right Marc, I’m going to give you something for the pain, plus something in case there is any infection in the bone,” Radkor produced the rectangular hand-held Dispenser from his satchel. “Again, you won’t feel anything, just a tap on your shoulder.”

With a nod, Marc of Ibelin consented to the medication.

Setting the selector to the appropriate mark, Radkor tapped the Dispenser onto Marc’s naked shoulder. The Dispenser then delivered a very thin, square sheet of porous material impregnated with the required analgesic and antibiotic onto the bare flesh. Instantly, the sheet was absorbed through the skin and directly into the bloodstream. A few moments later, Marc sighed with relief as the pain killer took effect.

“Marc, I’m going to have to re-break your shoulder blade and reset it so that I can repair the nerves,” Radkor explained quietly. “It won’t hurt, but you’ll feel uncomfortable…”

“What is going on here, My Lords?” a female voice broke into the mesmerised silence of Radkor’s ad-hoc treatment session.

“Your Highness,” dozens of voices acknowledged the unannounced arrival of the Princess Sibylla as they bowed.

“The Physician is helping young Marc of Ibelin,” Joscelin explained to the young woman who appeared resplendent in a blue gown with gold coronet around her dark brown hair.

“Is this the Physician you wish my brother to see?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Then proceed,” the Princess replied with a mixture of curiosity and regal disdain.

With a shallow bow, Radkor returned to the patient. Replacing the Dispenser in his satchel, the Chief Medical Officer drew out another rectangular implement, this time with a conical extension.

“If you would hold your son’s arm against his body, like so, sir,” Radkor asked Jacques to hold Marc’s arm straight at the elbow and wrist as it pressed against his side.

Nodding, Marc’s father followed the Physician’s instruction.

“Clement, I want you to hold his shoulder like so,” Radkor instructed the older brother who gently supported the misshapen shoulder blade in his right hand.

“Marc, we’re going to begin. If you feel any pain you tell me right away,” Radkor instructed.

With a nod the fair-haired young man braced himself for what he expected to be painful ordeal. Instead, he felt a warm sensation in his shoulder as Radkor slowly and carefully operated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to refracture the misshapen shoulder blade along the line of the original break. Using the Med-Scanner in his left hand, Radkor monitored the progress of the refracture intently.

“Any pain, Marc?”

“No, nothing.”