First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (29 page)

“I expected as much, Captain. We will manage somehow. We are Talgarnos. We always manage. How long is the quarantine these days?”

“Forty-five days, I’m afraid.”

“Well, it can’t be helped. At least we’re not slaves, like the rest of our people. That’s something … I suppose.”

“Yes.” Thorpe wanted to say more, but could not bring herself to do so. Others, further up the chain of command, would decide what to do with the last of the free Talgarnos left in Tunguska.

CHAPTER 41  

Date: 22
^nd
March 322 ASC.

Position: Athenian Consulate. Capital city of Panthera. Planet Cimmeria.

Status:  Recuperation.

Nathan stared through the environmental force field at the night sky. He locked on to the brightest star, which hung high above the western horizon. The spot between his shoulder blades throbbed.

“How are you feeling, Nathan?” Doctor Ning asked.

“Better, thank you, Doc. Whatever you shot me with is bringing me back to life.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ning said. “But I can’t keep pumping you full of stimulants, so try taking it easy.” 

Nathan nodded. From what the others had told him, he owed his life to the old quack. During their incarceration, if Ning had not kept him upright he would have suffocated. He still hated doctors, but would give Ning a pass.

“What is that?” Nathan pointed toward the brightest star in the sky.

Ning followed his pointing finger. “That, Nathan, is the King Charles Battle Platform.”

Nathan nodded.
Of course it is.

“So what’s the word?”

“The word, according to Eileen Trumper, is indeterminate. The charges against you have not been dismissed. That is only thanks to public opinion. You made quite an impression, young man.”

“The ambassador wasn’t impressed.”

“She’s a good woman, but a political creature. After we leave Cimmeria, she will have to clean up the mess.”

“The mess was here before we arrived,” Nathan said. “How do people tolerate such corruption? Why don’t they fight back?”

“Perhaps one day they will,” Ning said wistfully. “Maybe all they need is a leader to get behind.”

“Hmm.” Nice thought, but he did not have that level of faith in people’s courage. “So what happens to us until Insolent returns?” 

“We fill in the time as best as we can, and try to keep out of trouble.”

“Not a problem.”

***

Nathan wandered through the marketplace, keeping his pace steady. Although the heat was oppressive, the light-weight, bone-colored shirt and matching pants were made from a cloth that, he had been assured, breathed. So far it lived up to its reputation.

The ambassador had not been pleased when the four young Athenians left the embassy, but agreed as long as they wore mufti. Two days had passed since the fight with the King’s guards, and with each day Nathan’s strength increased. During a total of four days on Cimmeria, his body had slowly adjusted to the murderous environment. Although he still needed his meds, he felt a growing confidence in his ability to deal with the harsh environment.

Carpov bit into a local fruit, her eyes watering as the sweet juice ran down her chin.

“Good?” Nathan asked her.

“Hmmm,” she answered, chewing on the juicy mouthful.

Lucky nudged him and whispered a lewd remark. 

“Grow up,” Nathan snapped.

Ritchie shot him a wry smirk and rolled her eyes. Her swollen lip had almost healed, thanks to some voodoo potion from Doc Ning.

Nathan tensed when members of the King’s Guard bullied their way through the market. They stopped, took what they wanted, and moved on. One of them grabbed a young woman roughly by the shoulder and pinned her to a wall. Her terrified expression pleaded for someone to help her.

CC grabbed him by the arm as he started to move. “Not our planet, Nathan.” 

The guard chuckled as he moved on.

Nathan’s rage at the injustice simmered. But CC was right. For the time being.

He stopped at a small stall topped by a multicolored awning. A young Cimmerian woman stared at him. Her little boy, perhaps five or six years old, stood by her side, eyeing him. Nathan waved and the little guy smiled shyly and disappeared behind his mother’s skirt.

“A fine-looking boy you have there,” Nathan offered.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, still maintaining the wide-eyed contact. “Excuse me, sir, but, if I may ask, are you Telford?”

“Lucas Telford was my father.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, nodding, “the son of Telford who bested the guard captain, Haynes, yet showed mercy.”

“Ah, yeah. How did you know about that?”

Her thick eyebrows arched to her prominent forehead. “Everyone knows of the son of Telford.”

“I see,” he said, and rummaged around the table for something to buy so he could take his leave.

“Are you after something in particular, sir?”

Beside her, the boy peered out from behind her skirt, one enormous amber-colored eye examining him. 

“Something nice, for my wife, and perhaps something for my baby girl.”

“Oh, there is nothing so fine on my humble table.” She glanced down at the boy. “Edmond, mind the stall while I help Telford.”

Edmond nodded, and his mother stepped from behind the makeshift counter. “Please sir, come with me.”

Nathan rubbed at the bump above his right eyebrow and followed.

“You’re quite the popular fellow, Mister Telford,” Ritchie said, as she fell in beside him.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder, to be met by two identical smirks from CC and Lucky.

“God give me patience.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in—” Lucky began.

“It’s only an expression, Lucky. You know, like, numb-nuts.”

“Oh, yeah, but … hey!”

They followed the Cimmerian through the lightly packed market for a few minutes before arriving at their destination. Nathan had been reaching out with his senses since leaving the embassy. Except for the occasional guards, he sensed no danger from these generous, affable people. They stepped through a doorway, just wide enough for a Cimmerian male, and into a shop. The sun spilled through a skylight, illuminating the shadowy interior.

“John,” the woman said, “I have brought someone special to purchase your fine wares.”

The short Cimmerian glanced from his screen and nodded to the female.

“Athenians, yes?" he asked, then before they could answer, said, “We are always happy to serve our League allies. Welcome to John’s Quality Emporium.” He appraised Nathan and his friends as if summing up what buttons to press in order to extract money. 

John held his broad hands out to his sides. “How may I be of assistance to you fine young men and women?”

“I’m looking for a pure silk scarf,” Lucky said.

“Certainly, young man. I’m sure we can find something that will suit your solid, manly build.”

“It’s not for me,” Lucky cried.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Carpov said around a smile.

Lucky frowned, and John saw his opportunity. “Ah, of course, for the lady friend back home. Yes? Come with me.”

Nathan chuckled, then strolled around the cluttered shop. Although Honest John was an obvious snake oil merchant, Nathan could not deny the quality of the merchandise he had on display. Some of the wooden carvings were exquisitely intricate. Not that he could buy them, what with Athens’ ultra-strict quarantine regulations.

Within twenty minutes, purchases were made and they prepared to leave.

“Please, ladies, gentlemen, don’t run off so quickly,” Honest John implored. “Stay, have coffee, as my guest.”

Although they were alert to the dealer’s crafty motives, the collective wisdom said that Cimmerian coffee could not be as bad as the synthetic swill on the boat. In a back room, they sat around a small table while John poured coffee into small cups. Milk and sugar were not on offer. Nathan sniffed the coffee, finding the strong aroma pungently agreeable. He tasted it.

“Wow!”

Hot and strong, the flavor hit his taste buds as a welcome, yet bitter, reminder of better times.

“Not good?” John ventured.

“It’s very good, but very strong,” Nathan said.

“We like our coffee strong on Cimmeria. Like our warriors.”

Here we go.

“We have heard about how you bested Captain Haynes. And, like your father before you, showed honor.”

“Nathan took him out as clean as you like,” Lucky said. “Haynes didn’t see it coming.”

Nathan cringed.

Honest John ignored Lucky. “Are you, like your father, a pilot?”

Nathan nodded, wondering when he would get to hear about his father’s time on this world. He was loath to ask questions in front of his shipmates.

“Then perhaps, as a pilot, you would like to see the first military space craft designed and manufactured by Cimmerians?”

“I sure as hell would,” Lucky said.

So would I.
Nathan nodded.

***

The ground car slid to a smooth halt in the parking lot adjacent to the far-flung hangar area. The journey from the center of town to the outskirts of the spaceport had been brief and uneventful. 

A guard lounged against the wall of a guard post. 

“Give me a moment.” John approached the guard post and a discussion ensued. After a minute of spirited conversation, he pointed back to the four Athenians. The guard snapped to attention and waved them through. 

They passed through two additional guard posts before finally arriving at the main hangar. The huge building had seen better days and looked ready to collapse under its own weight. Another Bretish relic left over from the war.

At the entrance they were approached by a young Cimmerian wearing dirty coveralls.

“Uncle John, what are you…” his voice trailed off when he spotted Nathan. He snapped to attention. “Welcome, Sir. I am Chief Petty Officer Harper, Cimmerian Space Navy. We are honored to have you visiting our facility.”

“Son of Telford,” Ritchie chimed in, her sarcasm lost on Harper.

“We are honored to be here, Chief.” Nathan’s attention wandered to the looming shape behind Harper.

“Telford and his friends have come to see our great accomplishment, Martin,” John said.

“Of course, please step this way.”

“What a beast,” Lucky said, as he took in the large craft.

“Beast is right,” Ritchie said. “The thrust on this must be brutal.”

CPO Harper beamed as a father would when complimented on his child’s first steps. “We are very proud of our efforts.”

Nathan stared at the fighter, mesmerized. Easily three times the size of a Specter, its lines were so clean they reminded Nathan of the smooth contours of a monitor’s design.  

Carpov, being a marine, was less impressed. “So, can this thing actually get off the ground?”

Harper ground to a halt and rounded on Carpov, irritation playing over his features. 

Nathan sent Carpov a warning glare. “She meant nothing by the comment, Chief. But you know what marines are like.”

Harper nodded to Nathan and mumbled something akin to “friggin’ ground-pounder.”

Stopping before the sleek craft, Harper folder his arms.

“What do you think of her, Sir?”

“Beautiful,” Nathan whispered.

Nathan could see nothing that resembled stealth engines. The mid-set delta wings ran from the midsection of her fuselage back to the vertical and horizontal stabilizers.
A tail assembly on a spacecraft?
The sharp angles of the rectangular fuselage appeared awkward at first, but on second consideration, Nathan could imagine its sensor reflecting qualities being quite stealthy. But not with those two enormous thrust engines. Her sharp lines lacked grace, yet reminded him of a vid he had seen from the early days of Earth’s primitive attempts at supersonic flight. The dull black finish would make her difficult to pick up visually.   

“How does she handle?” Lucky asked.

“Like a dream,” Harper said. “Equally well in vacuum or atmosphere.”

Nathan’s mouth sagged open when a combat chair sprang from the top of the fuselage. A Cimmerian unbuckled and glanced at her visitors.

She was smaller than many Cimmerians he had seen. A white lab coat covered civilian clothing. “Harper, get your lazy bum up here,” she barked.

“Shit,” Harper said under his breath, and sprinted up the gantry.

“I told you to replace that power relay, yesterday. I nearly got trapped inside the combat sphere again.”

“I did replace it, Doctor, as instructed,” Harper said. “There’s something wrong with the power flow that keeps overloading the relays.”

“Then you’d better find it,” she said, with only moderately less aggression.

Harper leaned in to her ear, then jerked his head toward the Athenians. She glanced at Nathan and her manner softened.

“Just find out what’s causing the overload, all right?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Leaving the task with Harper, she stepped onto the gantry. She pulled a white cloth from a pocket and mopped her face and hands. As she approached the humans, she snapped, “How did you get in here?”

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Honest John, huddling behind Lucky’s broad back. He gave up the attempt, stepped out and grinned. “Good morning, Eleanor. Look who I’ve brought to see your wonderful achievement. It’s—”

“I know who he is, you scandalous old crook. He’s someone not authorized to be anywhere near this top secret project. By God, I’m going to get the security of the place in order if it’s the last thing I do.” She spotted a guard lounging against a hangar door. “You!” A finger struck out at the guard, bringing him to immediate attention. “Get the security duty officer down here. Now!” The terrified guard took off at a sprint. Her gaze locked on to the humans, and her hands went to her hips.

“And what do you find so bloody funny?”

“Who, me?” Nathan said with exaggerated innocence. “Oh, I was thinking of the old joke about a three-legged dog.”

He dared not break eye contact with her appraising glare. After a protracted silence, she said, “So, I hear you’re a pilot?” Her tone softened slightly.