The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (32 page)

The Star Destroyer Titan

Marrhus Lokkrien sat in the depressing silence of the First Admiral’s office as he scoured through the ever growing pile of reports, recommendations and administrative junk related to running the Universal Alliance Fleet. Leaning forward at the desk, he scanned through a position paper written by a Third Admiral on the current tactical situation on the Ganthoran-Bardomil Frontier. According to the Admiral, a respected tactical thinker, one of the Bardomil Imperial Fleets was being brought to readiness. With no obvious political or military crises afflicting the Bardomil Empire, the Admiral and Lokkrien were both at a loss to understand why one of the Imperial Fleet Generals was pushing his troops to full alert. The Ganthoran-Bardomil Frontier was tense, as usual, but with no extraordinary activity.

And, it was at times like these that Lokkrien wished that Billy Caudwell was around. The young human had an almost supernatural grasp of ‘big picture’ strategy. Whatever the Bardomil were up to, Billy Caudwell would be able to see through what was happening. Closing the folio, Lokkrien pushed the situation paper away to be further considered at a later date, and reached for a Performance Review folio. Suddenly, the alert Klaxon stared to blare, startling Lokkrien. Reaching over the desk, he hit the switch on the small communication cube.

“What’s going on?”

“Sir!” an excited voice responded from the War Room. “It’s…it’s…it’s,” the voice stammered.

“Well, come on, spit it out.”

“The flagship, sir! She’s back. The Aquarius is back, sir!”

Releasing the switch, Lokkrien stood up and dashed to the doorway. For months, the flagship and the First Admiral had been out of contact. Now, miraculously, the Aquarius had returned, and for Lokkrien, there was an almost unreal air about the situation.

Dashing through the force-shielding door into the War Room, Lokkrien saw Officers and Technicians scrambling to their consoles and duty stations.

“Scanners?” Lokkrien took his position at the War Table. “What happened?”

Looking at the two-dimensional View Screen, Lokkrien could see the unmistakable sight of an open Phenomenon with what looked like an Alliance Star Cruiser moving away from it.

“It just appeared a few moments ago in the Atriponian system, sir.”

“Comms, any contact?”

“Negative sir, we’ve tried all frequencies, no response.”

“Keep trying,” Lokkrien ordered, his attention focussed on the Star Cruiser.

“WATO?” he questioned the Weapons and Tactical Officer.

“She’s configured for one of our Star Cruisers, sir. Her Automatic Identification Signal says that she’s the Aquarius.”

“Still nothing, Comms?”

“Negative, sir, still trying to get through.”

“Scanners, what kind of shape is she in?”

“Running only essential systems...”

“She’s in trouble, get the rescue boats out there immediately!” Lokkrien barked. “And, will someone please stand down that alert!”

An instant later the shrill, blaring klaxon ceased.

“Sir, we have contact.”

“On the View Screen.”

Seconds later, the View Screen began to splutter into life. The horizontal lines of interference cleared to a slightly degraded picture of the First Admiral’s head and shoulders.

“First Admiral,” Lokkrien announced with relief as a small cheer rang around the War Room. “Good to see you again, sir, welcome back.”

“Good to be back, Admiral.” Billy smiled, equally relieved to have returned. “Have you been looking after my Fleet for me?”

“As best I could, sir. Do you require assistance?”

“I think we could do with a tow back to base.”

“On its way, sir. Can you tell us what happened to you out there?”

“That’s a long story, Admiral.”

“Well, we’re all looking forward to hearing it, sir.”

“I’m just glad we’re going to be able to tell it. I’m cutting transmission now, we’re on short rations for power at the moment and there are casualties aboard.”

“Understood, sir. The rescue boats are on the way.”

“Good to see you again old friend.”

“Good to see you too, sir.”

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Lokkrien ran his hand through his black hair and fought back the urge to sob. Then, turning to the War Room, he slipped smoothly back into his familiar Chief of Staff mode.

“Right, come on you lot, this isn’t a circus! Let’s get that crate back home safely!”

Epilogue

The Muscigny Estate, Geminus, Year 1185

The dark, cloaked figure walked slowly along the dusty road that cut through the Muscigny estate. The traffic on the main road from Jerusalem was light, even by twelfth century standards as the traveller walked through the vegetation that stretched into the far distance on either side of the roadway. It had been five years since the traveller had passed this way, and although many things looked familiar, a great deal had changed in those years. The great gouge, where the sky ship had allegedly fallen to the ground, was now overgrown by an ocean of wheat. The ears of wheat waved majestically in the light wind that seemed to send ripples and shivers through the mass of flowing colours. The great ocean of gold flashed through with white as the ears caught every breath and murmur of the gentle breeze.

The wall that had set the boundaries of the estate five years before was still well tended and maintained. But, the estate seemed to have grown significantly. As far as the eye could see, crops waved in the wind around Muscigny. The huge, gleaming white Citadel sparkled majestically in the morning sun, where red and gold banners stood defiantly from the battlements. The moat and ditch looked well maintained as did the lowered drawbridge. Large flocks of sheep roamed and grazed freely on the flat plain around the Citadel.
Someone was still mindful of the defences
, the stranger thought. Using sheep to keep the lush, green grass shorn provided the animals with nourishment, and the defenders with a clear field of fire against any attackers.

Soldiers, in gleaming helmets, lazily patrolled the battlements or stood sentry at the drawbridge. The Kingdom of Jerusalem had been at peace since King Baldwin and Sultan Saladin had signed their treaty back in 1182. Baldwin had married one of Saladin’s grand-daughters, and united in dynastic and political alliances, the three Kingdoms now thrived and prospered. Freedom of worship was guaranteed to all, despite the bluster and protest of Holy Mother Church. The Pope’s involvement in the Templar Plot, although hotly denied, had almost led to a schism with the Kingdom of Jerusalem. However, the Pope needed Jerusalem far more than Jerusalem needed the Church, and a new accord was reached on King Baldwin’s terms. Holy Mother Church had no say in Baldwin’s policy of religious tolerance.

Walking further down the roadway, the cloaked stranger approached the north-western well of the estate, where a muscular man, who wore no shirt, and a young boy were working together. The young boy, no more than three or four years old, possessed the same curly fair hair as the man, indicating some family resemblance.

“Is it allowed to drink from your well, friend?” the traveller asked.

As the man stood up from his work on mending the wall, the traveller recognised Lothar, the ex-thief and master wall builder. Older, slightly taller, but still powerfully built; the wall builder carried a sword at his hip as was the requirement of the estate. There was a garrison of professional soldiers on the estate, but every man and woman still carried arms for its defence.

“Of course, friend,” the powerful builder replied, indicating the covered well where the stone trough, still brimming with water, stood.

“Thank you, friend,” the traveller said, making sure that the hood to his cloak shielded his features.

“Are you travelling far?” Lothar asked the traveller, who scrabbled over the wall carefully.

“Just a ways up the road to my sister’s house.”

“Well, you’re welcome to rest here awhile. The noonday sun is very hot around here.”

“Thank you, friend, but, I want to be at my sister’s by nightfall,” he said, scooping up some water from the heavy stone trough in his hands.

“As you please, friend.”

“He’s a fine boy.” The traveller indicated the child who was playing happily amongst the stones. “Your son?”

“Yes, he is,” Lothar said proudly. “Young Guillaume,” he smiled and hoisted the burbling young boy up in his arms. “He’s the height of nonsense, aren’t you?” The proud father rubbed noses with his chuckling son.

“Isn’t the Lord around here named Guillaume?”

“No, not anymore. He left about five years ago now. He came down in a strange flying ship, set up this place and then left again. Lord Ibrahim is the Master of Muscigny now.”

“Did they really have a flying ship?” the traveller questioned, sipping more water from his hands.

“Yes,” Lothar replied, setting his son back down to play with the stones “Huge great beast that belched flames and fire before it flew away.”

“It wasn’t a dragon was it?”

“If it was a dragon, then it was sent from Heaven above. Without the people in that flying ship, there would be no estate here, and the King would still have leprosy.”

“They cured the King of leprosy? Were they magicians?”

“No, they were just people. Strange looking, very kind and very wise people. Had they not taken me from Jerusalem, I would surely have perished on the end of a hangman’s rope. But, they brought me here, taught me how to build walls, how to read and write and use my numbers, and now I have a family and a purpose in life.”

“God must have been smiling on you that day.”

“I don’t know why, I was the worst of sinners.”

“Even the worst sinners can find redemption.”

“It would seem so, but, please don’t let me hold you back from your journey.”

“Health and prosperity to you, friend,” the traveller replied, and knelt down to drink more.

With his head bowed towards the water, the traveller reached into his cloak and pulled out a small metallic box. When he was sure that Lothar was busy with his wall, the traveller pressed the small blue button on top of the small rectangular control box. A few moments later, the blue button began to flash a dull red. The remote control had made contact with the regulator system on the synthesiser buried deep in the well that stood in the Citadel. The peripheral wells on the estate were likely to be losing some degree of pressure after all these years. And, the traveller had found the water that he had drank to be slightly warmer than he remembered. Pressing the topmost of three green buttons on the control, the traveller drew his thumb gently up the slide control on the side of the mechanism. The water from the synthesiser would now be a few degrees cooler. The second green button regulated the flow from the synthesiser which the traveller depressed, and adjusted the flow rate upwards. Then, checking that Lothar had not seen what he had been doing, the traveller slid the control back into his cloak and stood up again.

Having stood up, the traveller felt a heavy nudge to his back which almost threw him off his feet. Turning from the trough, the traveller was met with the sight of a small grey donkey, instantly recognisable as Hassan. Reaching forward with his right hand, the traveller began to scratch the donkey’s ear.

“You didn’t forget me did you, you rascal?” The traveller smiled as the donkey tilted his head in response to the scratching.

With his neck extended, Hassan nudged at the travellers hip as he allowed the visitor to scratch behind his ears.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with your memory, is there?” The traveller responded by producing two white sugar cubes, wrapped in white paper, from his cloak. Unwrapping the cubes, he slipped them quietly into the donkey’s mouth.

“There you go, big fella,” the traveller said softly, discarding the wrapper.

As the animal crunched the sugary sweetness, the traveller remembered the days with the little donkey and the metal Contraption that had helped heal his damaged leg. He remembered the constant annoying squeak which announced the animal’s presence wherever he roamed.

His memories, however, were of a courageous little donkey who had taken on, and dominated, two armed men. But, the strongest memory of all was of the great loud bellow of triumph from the little donkey when the last of the armed men had been defeated in the fight by the well. With a lump of raw emotion forming in his throat, the traveller continued to scratch the donkey’s ears.

With a loud crunching sound, the donkey rapidly devoured the sweet-tasting morsels, and was enjoying a further ear scratch when another familiar voice interrupted the reunion.

“Hassan!” the young man gasped as he ran towards the well. “Forgive him, kind sir,” the unmistakable voice of Khalil greeted the traveller. “It is a long time since he has been so badly behaved.”

In breeches, a drab brown shirt and Landing Trooper boots, Khalil was no longer the skinny little slave boy who had tried to protect his only friend, the donkey, from the overseer at the well. He was taller, and had filled out to a fine physique. The scratches and bruises of his slave days had healed, and the eyes, once so full of terror, now sparkled with confidence and self-assurance.

“No harm done, he’s just being friendly, aren’t you?” the traveller said, continuing to scratch Hassan’s ears. “Are you his owner?”

“No, sir, Hassan is a free spirit. He recognises no owner.”

“So, are you his friend?” the traveller asked, making sure his features were hidden.

“I try to keep him in line, but sometimes he has a will of his own.”

“That is no bad thing. And, you work on the estate?”

“Not all the time. I go to Jerusalem to study to be a healer, but Muscigny and Hassan are my home.”

With a quiet nod, the traveller recognised that Ibrahim had kept his word, and that the estate would be paying for Khalil to study in Jerusalem to become a physician. The estate would need a good healer, and whilst Hassan was still alive, Khalil would never leave Muscigny.

“It is good for someone to have a home and friends.”

“Do you travel far?” Khalil asked as a strange feeling of familiarity with the traveller began to seep into his consciousness.

“My sister lives a few more leagues up the road, and I’d best get a move on if I’m to be there before nightfall.”

“Then safe journey, good sir.”

“Long life and prosperity to you, and goodbye to you my friend.” He scratched Hassan’s ears once more, and started to walk away.

“Come on, Hassan,” Khalil ordered the little donkey as he too turned to walk away.

But, the little donkey refused to move. Pawing the ground close to the discarded sugar wrapper, the donkey began to bray loudly as he watched the traveller move back towards the roadway.

“What is it, Hassan? It’s just another stranger passing through the estate.”

The donkey, however, still refused to go, and continued to stamp and bray at the traveller.

“Hassan, I’m in no mood...”

As the donkey brayed once more, Khalil saw the flash of pure white on the ground beside Hassan’s foot.

“What have you got there?” Khalil said with annoyance as he gently scooped the white paper from the ground as the donkey continued to bray.

Having retrieved the paper, Khalil saw the word ‘sugar’ printed on the item. The realisation struck Khalil like a hammer blow as he turned quickly to look at the traveller.

Who disappeared in a flash of blinding, white light at that exact moment.

The End

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