The Sword and the Plough (19 page)

They would take up their station in the
Jupiter Trojans,* the asteroid belt near the main space lanes
between Megran and Earth. There they would await the code
word,
Valkyrie
–
the signal to attack.

Their spearhead mission was to destroy or
disable the queen’s space patrols in the area, using hit and run
tactics. In addition, they were to launch missile strikes against
as many of Earth’s military bases as possible, to create havoc and
generally harass the surface forces.

The operation would help clear the way for
the main Megran armada waiting to commence the invasion.

* * *

The black leather command chair was
unbelievably comfortable, and for one brief moment, Gregor Lipinski
relaxed and enjoyed its luxury. But just for a moment, there were
important things to attend to, strategic plans to
implement.

“Computer, this is First Officer, Gregor
Lipinski. I want you to find me a spot inside the Jupiter Trojans
to hide two dozen ships.”

“Tactical projections are priority one only
sir,” the computer’s female voice responded. “What is your
authorization?”

“Damn it, computer, I’m in command at
present. I need no other authorisation.”

“
My apologies, sir – searching
now.”

The first officer leaned forward abruptly and
tapped the call switch for deck seven.

“Weapons deck. Corporal Podley.”

“
First Officer Lipinski here. Get those
armourers working at the double. I want this ship in fighting trim
– fast. There’s a war on you know, corporal.”

“Yes sir. Right away sir!”

First Officer Lipinski smiled to himself.
He could have had his own scout ship eleven months ago, but he had
gambled to stay with the old war dog, Riddick. It seemed the gamble
was about to pay off – action at last. Surely, some of the glory
would rub off on the battleship’s first officer.

He tried a fantasy on for size. Captain
Gregor Lipinski, MSMD –
Megran Service Medal with
Distinction.
Alternatively,
what if the old man retired after the war, who would be the logical
choice for commander? Who would have the battle experience in the
only warship of its kind? Who would have learned from the
best?

It could all happen, he thought, it really
could – Gregor Lipinski,
battleship commander.

The queen’s cruiser “
Daring
”

“
Well Usha, a routine deep-space patrol
should be a good first task for your new squadron, eh?” Admiral
Arlos beamed across his sizeable mahogany desk at his newest
commander. “Cover the main space lanes, make your presence
known
, show any
potential wrong-doers that the Royal Space Force means business.
You know the sort of thing.

“You should be back in say, seven or eight
Earth days.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “How
does your husband feel about your going away, eh? In command of all
those ships and men, hmm?”

Usha Sinha smiled. “I don’t think he minds
too much, sir. In fact, I rather think he envies me the
adventure.”

The queen’s admiral chuckled. “Yes indeed. I
envy you myself.”

He slapped both hands palm down upon his
desktop, ending the niceties.

“Right then, Usha, any questions?”

“No sir. But thank you for choosing me.”

“No need for thanks, m’dear,” the admiral
responded easily. “I merely chose the best there was for the
job.”

* * *

Commander Sinha pushed open the tall glass
swing door of the Royal Space Force Airbase building and made her
way quickly through the now empty lounges towards the shuttle
departure area. Traffic had been heavy on the way from the
Admiralty and she was running late. It was not an auspicious
beginning for a new commander in Her Majesty’s space
force.

“
The shuttle is waiting for you, Ma’am, but
there’s only a few minutes of
orbit window
for your ship left. You’ll have
to hurry.”

There were only cleaners left in the long
corridor that led to the departure gate, and the commander was able
to increase her pace.

She did not see the side door open, or the
young man who suddenly rushed into her path, until it was too
late.

The impact sent them both sprawling, and, for
a second or two, Usha felt she might have broken something. She lay
where she had fallen awaiting the onset of pain to announce a
broken limb.

The young man was on his feet in an instant.
He had short-cropped blonde hair and startled looking blue eyes.
The red of his uniform was noticeably new and lacking any service
ribbons or other insignia.

“
Oh ma’am, I’m so sorry, so dreadfully
sorry.” He held out his hand. “Here, let me help you up. You’re not
hurt, are you?”

Usha allowed herself to be helped to her
feet. It appeared there were no bones broken. She dusted off her
uniform.

“I’m so sorry,” the young man blurted out
again. “I was in such a hurry, I just didn’t see you.”

Commander Sinha gave him a comforting smile.
“I’m fine,” she said, “and really there’s no need to apologise. I
think we were both in too much of a hurry to pay attention to where
we were going.”

“Well, if you’re really all right, ma’am,
I’ll have to fly. I’m running late for the shuttlecraft out to my
ship. And it’s my first ship, too. I don’t know what will happen to
me if I’m late.”

“And which ship is that?” Commander Patel
enquired curiously.

“
The cruiser
Daring
ma’am.”

Usha gave a short bright laugh. “What is your
name young man?”

“
Jared, ma’am – Able Spaceman, Jared John
Riddick.”

The boy’s last name, Riddick, rang a bell
somewhere in her memory.

“
Well Jared John Riddick,” Usha said with a
smile. “I am Commander Usha Sinha, and I am new to the
Daring,
too. Let us be
late together.”

* * *

One hundred and twenty-five kilometres
above the sky,
HMS Daring
waited. She was a hundred and fifty metres in
length, her long cigar like shape, with its bullet nosed bow,
painted grey.

The cage
•
Lars
and Helen – childhood
•
Hakim

“In Keb’s name, where are they taking us
now?” the major muttered as the VIP hostages were marched to an
underground passage beneath a heavily fortified citadel.

The prisoners had landed in Modark, the
capital city of Megran, and residence of its governor, His Royal
Highness, Prince Ferdinand.

“Humph! It looks like we’re to be slaves in a
mine,” Caroline complained as they entered the dark tunnel
entrance. “I hope they don’t expect me to work in this gown.”

Judith Warner gave her a weak smile, but her
look was troubled.

The prisoners were in a single column, the
major at its head, Judith Warner and Caroline in the middle, with
the governor and Lars bringing up the rear. An armed guard in
Megran green led the little procession. Two more followed close
behind. Captain Lancaster had been taken to a military hospital on
their arrival. Sergeant Chiang, their escort from the Megran
battleship, had seen to that.

The brick lined tunnel stretched ahead of
them, damp, dismal and dimly lit. Water dripped from the arched
roof soaking their hair and clothing. In places, it oozed and
dribbled down the walls, creating braided channels of green
slime.

They had gone perhaps one hundred metres,
Lars estimated, when the tunnel came to a stop at a solid steel
partition; at its centre a heavily armoured door. The guard at the
head of their small column help up his hand and ordered them to
wait. He went up to the door and rapped on it with the butt of his
Meredith pistol.

After a brief pause, a shutter slid back in
answer revealing a peephole in the door. The major edged closer to
listen as the guard began to converse with someone through the
opening.

Lars found a patch of wall that appeared less
damp and leant against it. His eyes roved the walls and the vaulted
ceiling, and he wondered idly how long it might have taken, brick
on brick, to build.

Megran had been the first planet settled
from Earth, and much of the new world had been built by convict
labour – slave labour. Lars could almost see those lost souls now,
the sweat pouring from their bodies as they toiled in the near
dark…

“Well, Lars!” The governor had found a dry
section of wall beside him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have chosen a
better occasion for your first space trip.” Sir Henry was smiling,
but there was something close to despair in the tone of his
voice.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,
sir,” Lars replied brightly. “Although I do think the accommodation
so far leaves a bit to be desired.”

“And the service is far from the best,”
Caroline added lightly, coming over to join them. “I shall
certainly complain to the management at the first opportunity.”

The older man laughed. “Well, it’s good to
see such spirit, isn’t it, Judith?’

The woman nodded, smiling nervously all the
while.

The governor said no more. His charges seemed
in good heart. He sank back against the concave brick wall and
closed his eyes. The strain of the last few days was making itself
felt. His queen was in danger. The civilisation that had flowered
over the last century and a half was in jeopardy. Everything he
knew was crumbling.

The major rejoined them “Gather round,” he
said in a low voice. His look was grim.

“From what I could gather,” he continued,
“there’s no room left in whatever they’re using as a prison.
However, they’re going to squeeze us in anyway.”

“So, we’re not the only prisoners then,” Lars
murmured.

“I’m afraid not,” the major replied. “And I
have an uncomfortable feeling about just who the other prisoners
are.”

“No talking!” one of the guards growled.

* * *

The heavy steel door clanged shut behind
them. They were on the next stage of their journey. The tunnel was
larger now, but the air had suddenly become hot and heavy, with a
burgeoning stench such as Lars had not smelt before. He shuddered.
He had the dread feeling they were entering some eerie underworld,
a parallel Hades, the mythical abode of the dead.

Their guards herded them on. After fifty
metres or so, they began to hear the sound of voices, a multitude
of spectral mutterings, like lost souls in the gloom. Judith Warner
began to sob uncontrollably. Caroline tried to comfort her, but she
could think of nothing reassuring to say.

Another fifty
metres farther on, the tunnel ended abruptly
poised above a flight of perhaps thirty steep steps leading down to
a brightly lit landing. The babel of voices coming up from the hole
of yellow light at their feet was now almost deafening. The
prisoners glanced uneasily at one another. Lit by the subterranean
glow, their faces took on a ghastly hue, and their shadows ranged
huge and menacing on the tunnel walls and vaulted brick
roof.

The guard at the head of their column raised
his hand and signalled to the prisoners to follow him down.

What ancient instinct binds us together in
time of fear, Lars wondered; some sixth sense, or some inborn lore,
a shadowy memory from our primeval past? Whatever it was, and
wherever it came from, it bunched the Trionians closely together in
a protective knot as they followed the guard down the steep
stairway.

* * *

The last few steps down revealed all.
Their primal fears were quickly replaced by a dread more real, more
chilling. In front of them was a large cellar under a high domed
ceiling. Taking up the entire space was a circular wire cage
jam-packed with prisoners – more than two hundred, by Lars’s
reckoning, men and women both; the rank odour of unwashed bodies in
the air, all at once explained.

Around the circumference of the cellar was a
wooden platform built out from the walls, on which Megran troopers
spaced at intervals stood guard, long barrelled Bess rifles held
ready across their chests.

Within the crowd of prisoners, red uniforms
abounded, and gold braid too, but there were other dress styles as
well, suggesting the captives had been plucked from a variety of
settings, both military and civilian. However, from what he could
see, it seemed to Lars he might be the only farmer in their
midst.

“Looks like more hostages,” Lars muttered
half in relief that the phantoms had gone.

The major leaned in and spoke in Lars’s ear.
“That may yet be the understatement of the year, Lars,” he
murmured. “I recognise several top military and government leaders
from every planet in the Commonwealth, save Earth, plus some good
Megran folk as well.”

“Move it!” a guard pushed the Trionians ahead
of him using his Bess rifle like a staff.

The little group made their way down from the
wooden platform to the cellar floor. It was hotter by far than the
hottest day under Trion’s twin suns. Another guard stood by the
open cage door, his drawn pistol motioning them to enter.

“Come on! Move it!” he growled. “We haven’t
got all day.”

Several of the other prisoners had spotted
them now. Some, who had been sitting, stood to see better, while
others moved over to stand at the cage wire. The clamour and din
subsided as the remainder of the inmates became aware of the new
arrivals, and the deep hush that followed was one of both deep
sorrow and despair.