The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (6 page)

“Then we must grant you title over Muscigny for your few months with us,” the Princess decreed. “My Lord of Edessa, please make up the documents,”

“Your Highness is most generous,” Billy bowed, wondering what he was going to do with a medieval estate.

“Ah, Physician, what news of our brother?” Sibylla suddenly announced as Radkor returned from the Private Apartments.

With a bow, Radkor leaned in close to the Princess to report. As the next-of-kin, the report was confidential and for her ears only. When Radkor had finished speaking, the Princess smiled broadly, dismissed Radkor and summoned Joscelin. With a bow, Radkor took his leave and joined Billy in front of the throne. Amidst the murmuring in the Courtyard, Joscelin and Sibylla conversed quietly.

“I take it the donation went down well, sir?” Radkor asked.

“They couldn’t get their hands on it fast enough, how’s the King?”

“Advanced leprosy, I gave him the anti-bacterial medication, which should stop the disease in its tracks, but he’s massively disfigured, sir, plus there’s one more thing,” Radkor whispered.

“What?”

“Keep your voice down, sir, but, he’s been poisoned.”

“What!?” Billy hissed, turning himself and the Chief Medical Officer to face the wall, away from prying eyes and ears. “Did you tell them?”

“Yes, sir, I don’t have any choice. But, it was a simple alkaloid poison, probably some plant derivative put in his food, quite easy to counteract…”

“Thankfully, it’s not our concern, but, he will be all right? We don’t need him dropping dead just after you’ve ‘cured’ him.”

“Oh, yes, sir, I’ve given him something to make him sleep, so, he’ll wake up tomorrow with the appetite of three men. I hope they have plenty of food around here.”

“My Lords!” the Seneschal announced. “The King is much improved, the Council is dismissed until tomorrow morning!”

With much grumbling and conversation, the assembly of armed men began to disperse as Joscelin climbed down from the side of the throne and strode determinedly towards Billy’s group.

“Time to get you and your people out of here, Admiral, before too many questions get asked,” Joscelin said with urgency. “Call down your flying ships to the courtyard we were in earlier,”

“Troopers,” Billy ordered, “double time, back to the courtyard,”

Striding out quickly, Billy and Radkor, with the Troopers behind, followed Joscelin out of the Main Courtyard. Making rapid progress, Billy summoned down the stealthed Personnel Carriers that had been circling the City since they had taken off less than thirty minutes before.

“So, what was all that about with the Archbishop?” Billy asked. “He’s never done a day’s work in his life.”

“Our friend the Archbishop has been a bit of a naughty boy, sir,” Radkor smiled enigmatically.

“Why? What was that ‘fever’ you treated him for?”

“He had the early stages of Syphilis, sir.”

For a moment, Billy stopped and laughed at the irony of it. Then, he followed the rapidly advancing Seneschal again, smiling broadly.

The Star Cruiser Aquarius

Engineering Technician Lurca Sanguvin sat cross-legged in front of the open panel in the deserted Mess Deck. Surrounded by panel covers and the remains of burned out circuit bundles, Lurca leaned back on her hands and sighed heavily. The job of inspecting and repairing the micro-circuitry that allowed the main force-shielding to function was an important one. Lurca knew that she had to be absolutely precise with her repairs as everything depended on the force-shielding to allow them to escape. Without the force-shielding, there could be no repairs to the structural damage of the ship. And, without those major repairs, the Aquarius was going nowhere any time soon.

Steeling herself for yet another round of inspection, Lurca sat forward again and lifted the Micro-Probe. She would have much preferred the Magnification Goggles for the intricate close-up work, but the Medical Officers said that using them too much would damage her optic nerve. So, adjusting the screen for the probes output image, Lurca reached up into the open panel and drew the pencil-like probe along the next line of micro-circuit bundles. In each bundle, hundreds of thousands of filament-like connections carried the power, or the information, to operate one of the millions of tiny functions that made up a force-shielding system. The Officers and Technicians in the War Room may push their buttons and hey-presto something would work, but down in the depths of the ship, it was the Engineers that made it work.

This was the less than glamorous part of working aboard the flagship of the Alliance Fleet, Lurca considered. This was the part where someone, usually Technician Lurca Sanguvin, would be consigned to a cramped, isolated duct or crawlspace to work in the heat and danger of live circuitry. Sometimes, she considered ironically, she even had the luxury of working at a Repair Station where she could neither stand up nor sit down comfortably, but just had to crouch with an aching back and legs to fix something like the hot water warning light in the Officer’s Mess.

Still angered at having been previously assigned the most pointless and mundane jobs aboard the flagship, Lurca felt the sharp sting of a micro-discharge burn her fingertips. Jerking her hand back quickly, she dropped the Micro-Probe and began to shake her hand down to dissipate the pain and the tingling feeling. Cursing herself for losing concentration, Lurca sighed once more and recovered the probe.

“How’s it going, Lurca?” the voice of Mardus Magriennen, the Senior Engineering Officer, interrupted her.

“Making progress, Chief,” Lurca said tiredly, “slow, but steady.”

“Well, that’s about all we can hope for right now,” the Senior Engineer replied sitting down cross-legged next to the young Technician. “What a mess!” he commented looking inside the panel at the wasteland of burned circuitry.

“Yeah, thanks for this one, Chief.”

“Well, don’t let it be said that I was never good to you eh, Lurca?” Magriennen smiled, looking more closely at one section of burned circuitry. “We chose this job especially for you.”

“Gosh, you’re all heart, Chief.”

“I know, the other Tech’s said the same too, how much of this have you got done, Lurca?”

“About a couple of hundred metres, Chief.”

“Any of it salvageable?” Magriennen asked, speculatively lifting one of the burned out bundles.

“Less than two percent, Chief.”

It was a long and time consuming job trying to salvage circuit bundles. With around twenty-thousand filaments per bundle to be checked, the Engineer first had to examine the bundle with the Micro-Probe to ascertain the level of damage sustained. If the damage was too severe, then the whole thirty-centimetre long bundle would have to be replaced. And, with Synthesiser capacity at a premium, the order was to salvage as much as possible. If the bundle was considered salvageable, the Engineer had to remove the bundle from the board; which might contain hundreds of bundles, and fit it to the Recovery Mechanism. The Recovery Mechanism, known to the Engineers as ‘The Loom’, disassembled the bundles and checked all of the filaments before it stripped out the damaged ones. With the damaged filaments removed, ‘The Loom’ would then lay down replacement filaments and re-assemble the bundle.

“Less than two percent?” Magriennen asked.

Was it going to be easier just to strip out the whole circuit, Magriennen asked himself. Lurca Sanguvin was a steady and reliable worker who was desperately needed on the Main Power circuitry projects. However, if he committed to replacing the whole force-shielding circuit, it would tie up the synthesisers for days, delaying all the other repairs. It was one of those millions of decisions that heads of department had to wrestle with every day.

“Yes, Chief,” Lurca replied handing Magriennen her work schedule where she recorded all of her work activities. “I’m hammering my head against a wall here.”

Like a large number of other Engineers, Lurca trusted Magriennen. He was a hard working but fair minded commanding officer who wouldn’t ask a subordinate to do what he wasn’t prepared to do himself.

“I know you are, Lurca, but it’s not your fault, we’ve just got too much to do and too few people to do it.”

Anyone with any kind of Engineering knowledge and experience had been roped into the Repair Crews. Even the Technicians who serviced the Eagle fighters had been drafted in to help repair the burned out circuitry in the ship.

Under any other circumstance, the Aquarius would have been written-off and a new Star Cruiser commissioned from the huge gas nebula where the Garmaurians had mothballed their battle fleets after their ruinous civil war. That, however, was not an option here. There were no space dock facilities, no specialist repair crews and no huge synthesisers that could manufacture the parts he was going to need for the structural damage. If the Aquarius was going to get off this planet it was going to be on the proverbial wing and a prayer.

“Yes, Chief.”

“See how it goes for another day, if we’re still getting around the two percent mark then we’ll have to reconsider, or we’re still going to be here when we retire.”

“Right you are, Chief.”

The monotony of the task was starting to affect Lurca’s morale, and Magriennen knew it was a problem with all of his people. The constant repetition, without a break, and seemingly no end in sight, was draining everyone. It was an issue he was going to have to raise with the First Admiral at the next report meeting.

“I’m prioritising the main power release to the main armament circuits,” Magriennen said as he looked into the open panel once more and saw nothing but burned out circuit boards. “It has more fail-safes, but once we’ve sorted that out I’m prioritising the force shielding,” he added.

“Right, Chief.”

“I thought that force shielding wouldn’t be so badly damaged and it would be a quick win for you, but that’s a disaster area. You’re too valuable to be wasted down here, Lurca, I need you on the Thrust Engine circuits.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Do what you can for today, then run a full circuit scan to give us an idea of how much work it’s going to need, and report to me at the end of the shift. You’ve done well here, Lurca,” he praised as he walked away. “I need you on Thrust Engines.”

Lurca smiled proudly and lifted the Micro-Probe again.

The Muscigny Estate, March 26
th

The next morning, Billy Caudwell, escorted by four Landing Troopers and the Senior Integration Officer, strode confidently towards the broken down Citadel on the Muscigny Estate. Through the swirling dust, kicked up by their heavy boots, the six figures made their progress under the cloudless, sunny sky of a bright spring day. Clutched firmly in his right hand, Billy carried the Land Grant parchment that he had received in Jerusalem.

Heading up the dirt track towards the open double gates of the run-down Citadel, Billy noticed the ragged outer walls and piles of rubble that had accumulated from the years of neglect. A mangy looking goat chewed optimistically at some tough grass growing close to the gate, which was hung precariously from its hinges. Whilst nearby, a couple of skinny chickens, with a patchy covering of feathers, scratched hopefully at the dirt for some form of sustenance.

“Welcome to our new empire,” Billy said ironically as he stopped just outside the broken gates.

The Senior Integration Officer, a tall gloomy-faced Hubbart named Gummell, smiled as he scanned the inner battlements of the Citadel.

“Hello!? Anybody home!?” Billy called out to the empty inner courtyard.

The deafening silence that greeted his announcement spoke testimony to the terror of the local populace. Scanning the courtyard, Billy had to acknowledge that it wasn’t every day that a fully-armed Universal Alliance Star Cruiser fell out of the sky from eight centuries in the future. Such an occurrence would be, to say the least, a little bit disconcerting.

“Hello!? Is there anybody here!?”

To his right, what appeared to be stable blocks and storage buildings remained stubbornly silent. To his front, a large, shabby, two-storey, mud-brick structure; which Billy assumed was the Residence, also failed to divulge the whereabouts of any living inhabitants.

“Spread out, see if there’s anyone here,” Billy ordered the four Landing Troopers, who dispersed into the courtyard to search the buildings.

“Well, it’s not exactly the most luxurious accommodation, sir,” Gummell commented.

“I’m not planning on being here too long,” Billy replied, and the conversation was cut short by a loud human scream from inside the Residence building.

“No! Please!” a voice begged loudly from within the Residence.

“Looks like the Troopers have found something,” Billy said and walked towards the double doors of the Residence.

“Please! Don’t kill me!” the voice wailed once again as Billy stepped into the Residence through the open half of the double doors.

The two-storey building, which seemed to have only half a roof, was dominated by the walkways that ringed each floor connected not by stairs, but by ramps. On the lower ramp a Landing Trooper was pushing and kicking a middle-aged human male figure in a long dusty brown robe towards the ground floor.

“STOP!!” Billy called out to the Landing Trooper. “Bring them down gently!” he ordered, cursing himself for not making the order more explicit to the over-zealous Troopers in the first place.

The Landing Trooper snapped to the ‘attention’ position as the brutalised figure tumbled down the last few metres to the foot of the ramp, landing in an ungainly heap at Billy and Gummell’s feet.

“Please Great Demon, do not kill me!” the figure begged, scrambling to its knees and lowering its head and arms down to the dust.

“Come on, please get up,” Billy sighed wearily to the prostrate figure.

This wasn’t quite the introduction to his new feudal fiefdom that he wanted, having watched the Landing Trooper assault the first person they had found on the estate.

“No! Please!” the grovelling elderly man pleaded.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Billy made the gesture to ‘dismiss’ angrily to the Trooper, who trotted away to search the rest of the Residence.

Crouching down on one knee in front of the prostrate man, Billy took him gently by the arms and guided him unsteadily to his feet.

“Who are you?”

“I am Ibrahim, I am the Steward.”

“Well, Ibrahim, I am First Admiral Caudwell,” Billy said, offering the frightened old man a handshake. Shying away from the hand, Ibrahim stared at the newcomer, wide-eyed as a frightened animal. “Where I come from, we usually say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Billy said, taking the terrified old man’s right hand in his own and shaking it gently.

Nervously, the old man looked at Billy before drawing his hand away quickly. Looking at the elderly Steward, Billy saw that he was short, even for the twelfth century. That was going to be useful, he considered, as many of the crew on the Aquarius were Thexxians. The Thexxians were generally much shorter in stature than the humans from the late twentieth century. But here they would be close to what was considered a normal height.

“Ibrahim, do you recognise this?” Billy asked, holding the parchment scroll with the heavy wax seal out towards the elderly Steward.

“It is the Great Seal of Jerusalem.”

“That’s right Ibrahim, the King has granted me this estate. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“You are the new Lord and Master of Muscigny?”

“Yes, Ibrahim, if I can call you Ibrahim? And, I want to know exactly what goes on here.”

“Yes, Sidi, of course, Sidi, if you’ll follow me,” Ibrahim addressed Billy with the new honorific and gained some of his composure, hesitantly leading the way to one of the rooms beneath the first floor walkway.

In the small, cramped, dirty room with the low ceiling, Ibrahim swept the dust, and a loudly-protesting scrawny red chicken, from the parchments strewn over the small table that filled almost the entire space. Light flooded in from a large window with ramshackle shutters which hung perilously from their hinges and gave a panoramic view of the entire northern part of the estate.

“Sidi, I have done my best to keep records,” Ibrahim began, holding up a long and wide piece of yellowing parchment covered in a spidery scrawl that passed for writing, and long wavy lines that indicated the extent of the estate.

“This is your map of the estate, Ibrahim?” Billy asked, spreading the parchment out on the table.

From the crude drawing, Billy could see that Muscigny was L-shaped. The Citadel stood at the southern edge of the estate, perched on the edge of a rise for defensive purposes. This gave the estate two levels, with two sides of the Citadel perched on the edge of a fairly steep two hundred metre drop.

To the west of the Citadel, the ground sloped more gently to the lower level, whilst to the east, the ground formed a flat plain that stretched to the horizon. This gave the southern part of the estate the long foot of the L-shape. Whoever had built the Citadel knew exactly what they were doing. The broken down fortified building dominated the north and west of the territory. The main road that ran from Acre, on the north-west coast, to Jerusalem would always be under the watchful scrutiny of the Citadel. The Citadel would also be a good base camp for any military action to the north and east in the direction of Damascus. Looking at the bigger picture, Billy realised that the broken down estate of Muscigny was likely to be very important strategically in time of war. To the south of the Citadel, the shattered Star Cruiser lay at the end of the deep gouge it had torn in the dusty, yellow ground. Beyond the shattered pale-blue spaceship, the hills of Jerusalem shimmered in the afternoon sun.

Looking down at the map of the estate, Billy considered that this place that was very defensible, even if they only had the weapons and technology of the time.

“So.” Billy began examining the L-shaped map in more detail as two of the Landing Troopers returned from searching the outbuildings. “We have water, here and here?” he indicated what appeared to be two circular structures at either end of the estate.

“Yes, Sidi.”

“Anything?” Billy asked the Landing Troopers

“Nothing, sir,” the muffled voice from one of the visored-helmets responded.

“So, Ibrahim, we have land and water here, so where are the people and the farms?” Billy asked.

“Sidi, there are no farms and the people have...” Ibrahim began and was interrupted by a loud animal shriek of pain.

“What the...!?” a startled Billy exclaimed, and moved quickly to the large open window.

Out on the estate, Billy could see a large, overweight man swinging something, possibly a stick, at a stricken donkey. The small grey donkey, yoked to a water wheel, had fallen and was braying and screaming in pain and distress as it struggled to stand up again. A small, thin boy in ragged clothing with chains on his ankles was desperately trying to protect the fallen animal.

“STOP THAT!!” Billy Caudwell yelled from the window. “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!” he ordered as the boy flung himself at the raised arm of the fat man.

The donkey screamed once more as it tried to stand up and failed. Falling over, the donkey brayed in alarm, and then pain as the fat man’s arm swung down once more; the young boy tried to hold him back with all of his feeble strength.

“I SAID STOP THAT!!” Billy yelled once more, his anger and frustration starting to boil over.

The donkey screamed again as the stick fell; the fat man pushed the young boy aside with his free arm.

“He can’t hear you, sir,” Gummell observed as the fat man leaned over to deliver even harder strokes to the stricken animal.

“Trooper, stun him!” Billy instructed and stood aside as one of the Landing Troopers stepped up to the window.

Aiming carefully, the Landing Trooper let loose the lowest yield pulsar-bolt that the seven-barrelled weapon could produce. An instant later, the pale-yellow bolt streaked downrange and struck the fat man full on the chest as he raised his arm to the collapsed donkey once again.

The bolt struck clean and true, knocking the fat man from his feet and flat onto his back on the ground, where he started to tremor and spasm.

“Good shot, Trooper,” Billy said and ran for the doorway.

Followed by Ibrahim, Gummell and the two Troopers, Billy darted out of the Residence across the courtyard and out of the Citadel. Scampering down the gentle western slope, Billy quickly covered the ground down onto the huge rectangular southern plain. Driven by anger and outrage, it took less than a few minutes for him to cover the ground to the well where the distressed donkey was still braying loudly and trying to stand up. Hampered by the ropes and chains from the yoke to the water wheel, the small, painfully-thin grey donkey was having trouble regaining its feet.

“Hassan! No! Hassan!” the young boy, an Arab, tried to calm the donkey which continued to thrash and struggle on the ground, braying and bellowing in its panic.

“Calm it!” Billy called out as he approached the scene with Gummell and the Landing Troopers close behind.

Startled by the sudden demise of the now shuddering fat man, the young boy looked up to see four uniformed creatures dashing towards him. And in that moment, he too panicked.

“Please don’t hurt him!” the young boy pleaded, holding out his left hand in supplication whilst trying to calm the struggling donkey with his right.

“Calm him down!” Billy ordered as he reached the well and stepped determinedly over the fallen donkey.

With one smooth movement, Billy drew the short Landing Trooper Battle-Blade from his boot top and cut through the rope on the yoke, freeing the donkey. With a loud bray, the donkey fell sideways having been released from the constricting burden on its neck.

“Please! Please don’t hurt him!” the young boy pleaded again trying to calm the braying, thrashing and snorting animal.

“Just keep him calm!” Billy ordered, yanking the chain from its mooring on the water wheel.

Finally freed from the well, the donkey struggled and lurched to its feet, pulling the young Arab boy with it. Once on its feet, the donkey hobbled a few steps, its rear right leg held up before it collapsed again gasping, braying and panting in the dust.

“Please, don’t hurt him, he’s just tired that’s all,” the boy pleaded again, lying across the donkey’s neck to try to calm it down. “I will push the wheel until Hassan is rested.”

“No one’s going to harm him,” Billy promised gathering up the chain from the donkey and throwing it back over the water wheel.

“You all right, sir?” Gummell asked arriving on the scene with the Landing Troopers at his heels

“Yes, I’m fine, get a Medical Technician down here for this animal,” Billy ordered, starting to gather up the rope from around the donkey’s neck. “Come on, shift this drive shaft.” Billy called the Landing Troopers over to move the shaft that the donkey had been pulling.

With the two burly Troopers, Billy set his weight to the shaft, which creaked and groaned in protest as it was shoved further round its circuit away from the fallen donkey. When the shaft had been moved, the rope went the same way as the chain.

A moment later, a bright blinding flash of light heralded the arrival of a blue-uniformed Thexxian medical technician. Startled by the sudden arrival of the young Thexxian female, the boy let out a wail of despair. Strange things were now happening, and the young boy was just completely unable to comprehend them.