The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (3 page)

In the War Room, as throughout the rest of the Aquarius, Billy Caudwell hung on for grim death to whatever he could hold onto as people, equipment and debris were flung and shaken about around him. Smoke and cascades of sparks mingled with falling and tumbling bodies amidst the chaos of the War Room. The whine of the Trion Drive had gone to be replaced by screams, shouts and the vicious rending and tearing sound of metal.

Then, with a huge jolt, the Aquarius broke free of the spiralling tunnel and hurtled through space towards a planet that looked like Earth.

Still clutching the edge of the War Table, Billy Caudwell was able to look up for only a few seconds; the big blue marble of Planet Geminus rapidly grew on the View Screen image as the Aquarius hurtled towards the planet.

“Brace for impact!” someone yelled through the violent shaking in the War Room, and the crashing and shattering of equipment.

Outside the Aquarius, the Star Cruiser was entering the planet’s upper atmosphere. Despite the violent shaking in the tunnel, the protective force-shielding on the Star Cruiser still seemed to be intact. As the front edge of the force-shielding met the friction of the planet’s atmosphere, the reptilian nose of the Aquarius began to glow a dull fiery red. The colour intensified for a few moments as the Star Cruiser was pulled deeper into the atmosphere. With the nose turning yellow, great bursts of flame and sparks were cast off from the stricken vessel as it fell uncontrollably from the sky.

On the View Screen image, Billy was just able to make out the outline of the Mediterranean Ocean, with the boot-shaped coastline of Italy, before someone gained a degree of control over the Star Cruiser. The View Screen image seemed to show a slower descent just fractions of a second before the Star Cruiser would have smashed into the water.

One of the Navigation personnel had managed to gain some form of manual control, and was steering the stricken Star Cruiser over the ocean and onto dry land. But, having just cleared the ocean and a watery grave, the Navigator lost control once again. The crippled Aquarius, no longer able to stay aloft, fell to the ground in a massive impact. The nose of the Star Cruiser ploughed into the ground at an angle sufficiently shallow for it not to bring the vessel to a cataclysmic halt. Instead, the nose drove a huge furrow of dirt, vegetation and boulders before it; leaving a huge scar on the landscape. As it drove relentlessly onwards, the Aquarius sent a great cascade of dirt and debris into the air with an apocalyptic rumbling and shriek of tearing metal.

In the War Room, Billy Caudwell, shaken loose by the savage impact, flew helplessly through the air and was smashed against a console that struck him on the back of the head. With a groan that was barely a whisper amongst the chaos of the War Room, Billy entered a world of darkness as the Aquarius ground to a grinding and shrieking halt.

Planet Geminus - The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, March 25
th
, 1180 AD

Amalric of Lusignan prowled the darkened corridor of the Private Apartments of the Royal Palace of Jerusalem. The heavy wooden door to the King’s bedchamber was firmly shut against him. The King was ill, and, according to the Royal Physician, was dying. A middle-aged woman, who now nursed the King in his final days sat, perched on a low stool, just outside the impressive doors to the Royal Chambers and wept softly. Rocking slowly back and forward on the stool, she grieved for a King who would die aged only nineteen. She had nursed him as an infant and now she would nurse him to his very early grave

No one had expected young King Baldwin to live for long, having been diagnosed with leprosy as a child. The young King, having taken the throne aged thirteen had, however, proved tenacious and effective as ruler. Keeping the warring nobles in line had provided stability within the Kingdom, whilst defeating the Saracen ruler Saladin in battle, when he was only sixteen, had safeguarded the borders. Now, the King was dying and Amalric feared that the King’s work was about to be undone. As Constable of Jerusalem, Amalric was the effective second on command of the army. And, Amalric knew that whoever controlled the army held the balance of power in the Kingdom.

Pacing anxiously up and down the corridor, Amalric’s feet scuffed the heavy stone floor, the angry flapping of his surcoat met only by the gentle sobbing of the nurse-maid. Sitting against the low wall of the corridor that overlooked the Great Courtyard, the scowling figure of Joscelin of Edessa sat alone with his own thoughts. As Seneschal, Joscelin was responsible for the domestic arrangements and, more importantly, oversaw the High Council in the King’s absence. The most powerful men in the Kingdom, after the King himself, waited anxiously for the young man to die. Then, intrigues and power-plays would begin as the nobles vied and positioned themselves for the crown.

The dark-haired Amalric had ambitions in that direction, and saw Joscelin as a major rival. Both men hated each other with a passion and would happily have cut the others throat. However, for the moment, they had to work together. Amalric had to control the army, and Joscelin to hold the nobles of the High Council in check until the King’s young nephew ascended the throne. That would, at least, stave off a brutal civil war and keep the Saracens away from the borders of the Kingdom. Then, Alamric considered, he could make his move on the King’s sister, Sybilla, who would become regent. Safely married to Sybilla, and with the army behind him, Amalric could then arrange for the new young King of Jerusalem to have an ‘accident’, which would leave Sybilla as Queen and Amalric as King.

It was a dangerous strategy, and, if it failed, Amalric knew that his head would be stuck on a stake outside the Palace Gates. But, great prizes were not won without great risk, Amalric understood. The nobles of the High Council had to be kept under control or their bickering would lead to bloodshed and invite a Saracen invasion. If that happened, then all of Amalric’s plans would be torn to shreds.

The news of the King’s death could not be released until the succession was secured, however temporarily, and for that Amalric needed Joscelin’s cooperation. Then, the Master of Edessa could also go to his own eternal rest.

Contemplating how he could remove Joscelin from the picture with as little suspicion as possible, Amalric was startled by the bedchamber door opening. The short rotund figure of the Royal Physician emerged, pulling his heavy dark cloak about him as the two noblemen dashed over to him.

“What of His Majesty?” Joscelin asked, beating Amalric to the question.

“His Majesty is slightly improved,” the chubby Physician said sadly, “but I see no conclusion to his current condition other than death. I have given him something to help him sleep and ease his suffering.”

“There is no chance that he will recover?” Amalric asked with an edge of feigned anxiety.

“Barring a miracle from God himself, no. My Lords, he may linger for a few days yet, but the outcome is inevitable, I’m sorry,” he walked away slowly.

“We have to prepare the people for his death…” Amalric said quietly when the Physician was out of earshot.

“No!” Joscelin hissed quietly, grabbing the chest of Amalric’s burgundy-coloured surcoat. “We have to wait until His Majesty is dead and the boy is crowned, then we tell the people.”

“I’ll at least have to prepare the army. I’ll order the Division Commanders to be vigilant on the frontiers,” Amalric snarled angrily, pushing the Seneschal’s hands away.

“Yes, but use some pretence about information from one of our spies.”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” Amalric replied icily and walked away.

Striding down the corridor, Amalric considered that the Palace Guard would be loyal to whoever could pay them, so he needed his own hand-picked men ready and stationed in the Palace for when the King finally expired. His personal retinue of twenty seasoned professionals would be more than adequate, he pondered, as he formulated an excuse for the Division Commanders to push the bulk of the army out of harm’s way on the borders.
Within a month
, Amalric thought,
I will be King
. With the death of Baldwin, his plan would spring into action.

“God rest his soul,” Amalric muttered, and crossed himself quickly.

Hospital Bay One, Star Cruiser Aquarius

“First Admiral, sir,” a distant echoing female voice seemed to sound in the darkness of Billy Caudwell’s consciousness. “First Admiral, sir,” the echoing voice persisted.

Opening his eyes, Billy Caudwell immediately felt a heavy hammer blow of a headache.

“Ow!” Billy sighed, covering his eyes with his right hand as he lay on the Med-Bed in one of the Hospital Decks.

“First Admiral, welcome back,” an olive-skinned female Thexxian Medical Officer smiled. “You had quite a bump on your head, sir.”

“Argh!” Billy gasped loudly as he sat up quickly on the Med-Bed, and then wished he hadn’t.

“Careful, sir, you still have a bit of a concussion, so take it easy.”

Closing his eyes against the blinding pain, he winced and tried to work the pain away by rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

“How long have I been out, Doc?”

“About eight hours, sir.”

“Eight hours! Oh, my...” he groaned, his eyes popping open again.

“Sir, I would advise you to rest for at least twenty-four hours,” the Thexxian Medical Officer protested as Billy dragged himself down from the Med-Bed.

“Sorry, Doc, don’t have time for luxuries,” Billy replied as he barged past the protesting Officer.

“Sir, I really must...” she called out in the crowded Hospital Deck as Billy strode through the force-shielding of the single cubicle into a corridor filled with injured crew members.

“Deal with the ones who are injured, Doc!”

Walking through the Hospital Deck corridor, Billy could see injured crew members being treated for a whole range of injuries by the Medical Teams. Using thought-command protocols to access the Medical function in his Personal Environment Suit, Billy instructed the microscopic machines woven into its fabric, to start repairing whatever damage had been done to his body by the crash. The Personal Environment Suit, or PES, would immediately run a full medical diagnosis and begin to stimulate his body’s natural healing processes to deal with the damage. In that way, Billy could walk through the Hospital Deck and not require any further medical intervention.

Reaching the teleport pad, a thirty centimetre square of metal on the deck floor, Billy punched in the six figure code that would take him to the War Room. Closing his eyes, Billy counted to three slowly, and opened them to find himself on the teleport pad close to the War Table. Already, senior officers were gathered around the War Table to discuss the situation.

Scanning the area, Billy saw that the banks of consoles that made the War Room function were a disaster. Cabling and coils were exposed and hung down everywhere. Panels and shattered screens were scattered around the War Room floor as if a tornado had swept through the nerve centre of the entire Universal Alliance.

“Admiral on Deck!” someone in the War Room shouted.

“As you were!” Billy replied loudly as heels were clicked and personnel snapped to attention. “Right, gentlemen what’s the story?”

“Well, sir,” the Senior Engineer, a tough no-nonsense Thexxain called Magriennen, was the first to reply, “Basically, it’s a shambles.”

“Well, break it to us gently, Engineer.” Billy smiled, trying to make light of the situation and show an air of confidence.

“Main power has been shut down, sir,” the Engineer began. “The circuits throughout the ship are completely fried. If we hadn’t closed down the Proto-Star reactors there would have been a major rupture, and none of us would be here.”

In the depths of the Aquarius, a huge Containment Chamber holding several kilos of Proto-Star matter, harvested from juvenile stars just before they went nova, provided the near-limitless main power source for the Star Cruiser.

“Main power’s down,” Billy sighed, realising that this was a huge blow. “How long to repair?”

“All going well, sir, we can check through and replace all of the damaged micro-circuitry in about three weeks.”

“Three weeks!? That’s outrageous!”

“Sir, if we don’t check it all and test it thoroughly, we could go up in a really spectacular flash of light, and take a large chunk of this planet with us.”

“Very well, make those repairs priority, pull in everyone who can help and keep running day and night, we need Main Power. Now, what else?”

“There’s major structural damage to the hull, sir, one of the main Landing Struts has been sheared off completely, the first two Landing Bays are hanging on by a thread, the Thrust Engine casing has a nasty crack…”

“How long?”

“If we can get Main Power back and access the big force-shielding generators, I should say about another two weeks.”

“What!?” Billy threw up his hands in frustration as he turned away from the War Table.

“We still have auxiliary power from the anti-gravity generators, we can muster some protective force-shielding, major systems like environment control can function at a basic level, we have power for lights and heating, the Synthesisers for food production, good housekeeping, and at a push, the self-defence turrets.”

“It’s still bad enough.”

“We’re a bit bashed about and bruised, but in time we can fix it.”

“Okay, next?” Billy opened up the floor for further reports.

“Medical, sir” Chief Medical Officer Radkor, a tall hawk-nosed Cerador raised a hand. “We have eight dead and nearly seven-hundred injured,” he reported.

“How many are serious?”

“Twenty-four badly injured, sir, but they should all pull through given time.”

“Well, it looks like we’re going to have a lot of that on our hands.”

“Integration?” Billy turned to Senior Integration Officer Gummell, a long, gloomy-faced Hubbart. “Where are we?”

“We’re on your home planet of Terra, sir…”

“Oh no...where!?” Billy asked, with the dread realisation that they were now sticking out like a sore thumb on a planet that was the last place he wanted to be on with a crippled Star Cruiser.

Since the start of his mission to build the Universal Alliance nearly two years before, Billy had made huge efforts to keep their advanced technology away from Earth governments. The planet, still divided as it was between various power blocs, could easily destroy itself and every living thing on it with the kind of technology the Alliance possessed.

“What you call the Holy Land, sir. We are just under forty kilometres north of a city you call Jerusalem...”

“No!” Billy sighed closing his eyes and shaking his head in despair. “Israel, the Middle East; one of the most volatile areas on the entire planet. This is the last place I would want us to be.” Billy clasped his hands behind his head and pulled his forearms around to his temples.

In his mind’s eye, he could see soldiers and tanks surrounding the Aquarius with warplanes streaking overhead; their missiles locked on target. World leaders would be speaking on hotlines, trying to work out if the strange craft was a threat, and who controlled it. It was a nightmare that could lead to war and nuclear exchanges that would destroy the planet.

“As I was about to say, sir, the problem isn’t where we are, sir, it’s when.”

“When!?” Billy asked, totally confused. “What do you mean, when?”

“Somehow, we have landed on Terra; in your Holy Land close to Jerusalem. But, the configuration of the star-field above us indicates that we are in the early spring months of your Christian calendar year of one thousand, one hundred and eighty.”

“No! No way! It’s impossible! What about the Chronometers?”

“Sir, the Chronometers are damaged beyond repair, but we’ve checked and double-checked the star-charts there’s no doubt, sir.”

“No! There’s some kind of mistake here! Time travel is impossible, we can’t travel in time any more than we can travel at, or beyond, light speed.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it checks out, we sent up an Eagle with a surveillance satellite and it tells us we’re on a pre-industrial Terra. Pollution and radiation levels are almost non-existent.”

“No!” Billy shook his head. “This does not happen...okay gentlemen, dismissed,” he broke up the conference. “Masthan, not you.” He held back Gummell.

“Sir!” a Scanner Technician announced from amidst the carnage of the shattered War Room. “We have what you would call ‘horsemen’ approaching from the south.”

“Horsemen? Are you serious?”

“Sir, transferring to View Screen.”

With the all senior officers except Gummell, dismissed, Billy saw the two-dimensional View Screen stutter into life as it projected an image upwards from one of the external sensors on the Aquarius. On the screen, the unmistakable image of knights, dressed in chain mail and long, dark blue surcoats, galloped on powerful horses towards the Aquarius. Each knight carried a dark-blue shield, and long lance topped by a dark-blue pennant that fluttered rapidly in the wind.

“How many?”

“Thirty-one, sir, about seven kilometres away.”

“This cannot be real!” Billy mumbled as he watched the knights; in two columns, led by a greying-haired, scarred, but confident looking man.

“They look very real to me, sir,” the Engineer responded.

Taking a deep breath, Billy sighed and leaned against the War Table with his fists. Whatever his personal views on time travel, there was a situation that had to be dealt with. And, as a commander, he had to make rational decisions.

“Masthan set someone to work on the scientific research databases, if we have landed in the year eleven-eighty then we’d better find out how we got here, and more importantly, how we get ourselves out.”

“Sir,” Gummell snapped to attention. “If we are in the Holy Land in the year eleven-eighty, then the history database says we are in what is called the Kingdom of Jerusalem, ruled by King Baldwin the Fourth, sir.”

Billy dredged his memory for the few scraps of knowledge he could remember from his history books. “Yes, he was the guy that had leprosy, died young. Basically, Jerusalem was a medieval French colony in the Middle East. It was all Crusaders and Saracens hacking lumps out of each other over religion and stuff. Sultan Saladin thrashed them all over the shop and eventually recaptured Jerusalem.”

“Yes, sir, but what are we going to do about the neighbours?” Gummell asked.

“Well, I suggest we make them feel welcome, is the hull still hot?”

“No, sir,” an Engineer Technician responded. “We had some force-shielding all the way through the atmosphere. The hull is completely cold, sir,”

“Good! We wouldn’t want our guests fried before we get to meet them. Gummell, we’d better sweeten the pill of our arrival and do a little bit of Diplomating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have a hunt through the historical databases, and scare up a template for high-value gold and silver coins for the era, then duplicate, oh, about a thousand of each, and maybe two hundred diamonds and the same in rubies, that should be enough. And, rustle up some chests to put them in, plus an eight Trooper security detail in case we have to go visiting.”

“Right, sir.”

“Baldwin the Fourth had leprosy, which was incurable at the time, so ask Chief Medical Officer Radkor to meet me down in Landing Bay Three with his portable bag of tricks. I think leprosy was caused by bacterial infection.”

“Sir, you can’t possibly be considering curing their King of his leprosy?”

“Why on earth not?”

“Won’t that change the entire time line?”

“History has a habit of sorting itself out, Officer Gummell. Baldwin was a good King for his time, renowned for his religious tolerance, so it can only be for the better.”

“But, sir, changing the timeline could have far reaching consequences for this planet.”

“Officer Gummell, where I come from they teach us that if you have the power or the ability to end injustice or suffering, then you also have the duty to do so. As the only human here, I’m the only one potentially at risk. The Garmaurians are still out there interfering wherever they can. Your people are probably dozens of Parsecs distant, so they won’t be affected.”

“Yes, sir, but if you, or we, do something that kills one of your ancestors, then you’ll never be born and the Alliance will never exist.”

“Of course it will! The Garmaurians will still fight their civil war, still wipe each other out, and their mission to Earth will still go ahead. All that will be different is that you might have a First Admiral who was a Royal Air Force pilot.”

“It’s still a terrible risk, sir.”

“Life’s full of risks, and, if I do manage to go back in time and kill my grandmother before she meets my grandfather and I’m never born, there will be one major problem.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“If I’m never born, who’s going to go back in time and kill my grandmother?” Billy left the question hanging as he walked away from the War Table.

Reaching the teleporter, Billy punched in the six-digit code for Landing Bay Three and closed his eyes. After a slow count of three, he opened them again to find that he was in Landing Bay Three. After the terrible crash, the Landing Bay was in turmoil. Eagle fighters lay in ruins amongst the derbis and destruction, bulkheads had been torn from their fixtures, and cabling snaked and slithered from almost every corner and aperture.