The Sword and the Plough (22 page)

“Cheryl, please!” Johan De Vries, captain in
the queen’s service, spread his hands in supplication. “Please, I’m
sorry. You were so quiet I just couldn’t think of anything else to
talk about. Light-bolt weapons are all I know about. That’s my
profession.”

Cheryl York stared stiffly at him. Her blue
eyes were brimming, but she held back the tears. She dropped her
eyes and sniffed quietly.

“No, I’m sorry,” she muttered at last. She
looked up at him and forced a faint smile. “I know you wanted to
talk about other things, but I wouldn’t let you. Oh, Johnny, you’ve
tried so hard to make this evening pleasant for me, while all I’ve
done is try to spoil it.”

The tears did overflow then, two shiny
lines down her pasty cheeks. She wiped at them with a tissue, then
gently dabbed at her nose.

She took a breath and her smile blossomed
a little. “Look at you, all dressed up in your best civvies, trying
to make me happy. Look at me, still in my uniform – moody, bad
tempered, ready to cry at the drop of a hat.” She shook her head.
“Why do you bother?”

“
Because I love you.” the answer came
swiftly, earnestly. “And it’s all right, I understand. It’s your
father, isn’t it? You’re worried about him. Is he ill or
something?”

The young woman shook her head. “I wish
that’s all it was,” she murmured. She hesitated briefly and then
reached out and touched the young man’s hand. “You are my best
friend, Johnny. More than a friend, if I’m honest. I guess if I’m
ever going to unburden myself, talk to anyone, it has to be you.
And I can’t keep it bottled up any longer.” She gave a deep sigh.
“Yes, it is my father. But what do I tell you? What should I
say?”

“Shouldn’t you start at the beginning?”

“The beginning?” She shook her head. “No!
There’s no point in going into all that. That’s in the past now
even if the hurt and the anger are still in the present.”

She pursed her lips and her gaze shifted
beyond the young man, though there was only a wall to see. A frown
crinkled the clear skin of her brow.

“That deep space call the other day,” the
young man prompted. “It was your father, wasn’t it? I take it that
you and he don’t exactly get along.”

The young woman gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Ha! That’s putting it mildly.”

“
But I don’t understand. The call’s over –
done with. Why are you still so upset?”

She did not reply straightaway, and he could
sense her misgivings. Then her blue eyes locked into his.

“
Because I know he’s up to something.” She
took a deep breath. Her mind made up. “He asked me to join him on
Megran – tried to order me to come. He told me he wanted to help
me, further my career, hinted at something big going
on.”

Captain Johnny De Vries shook his head. “I
don’t understand,” he said. “Is that so bad?”

Cheryl York’s head nod was adamant.
“
Yes, oh yes
!
It’s clear to me something
bad
is about to happen and my father’s a part of
it.

“
It might sound silly to you, but I know
him.” She dabbed again at her nose with the tissue. “Oh, Johnny,
I’m so afraid. I don’t know what to do, who to tell –
or
,” she hesitated,
“what to tell them.”

The young man could not help his smile. “Oh,
my poor darling,” he said, placing a hand atop hers. “I think
you’ve got this thing with your father all out of proportion.

The young woman shook her head vigorously.
Johan noted the sheen in the flaxen hair as it quivered and felt a
longing to reach out and touch it.

“
Now, don’t get me wrong,” he began again
hastily. “I’m on your side, and I’m quite sure your father
is
up to something if
you say so. But whatever it is, it’s probably nowhere near half as
bad as you imagine.”

He assumed a serious face. “The things
that happen to us in our childhood can influence us all the days of
our lives. I understand that. And if they’re bad, we should not
attempt to keep the door closed on them, but talk whatever they are
through with a friend, get them into perspective, not let them
fester. They will fade in time if we bring them out into the
open.

“
However, I think, if there are good
things, we should attempt to keep those memories forever fresh in
our minds, reminisce often, even if just to ourselves. Keep the
good things fixed for all time.”

Johan paused, but when Cheryl made no
comment, he continued.

“I was talking to Sergeant Fofana the other
day. Apparently, he had a hell of a childhood. His parents were
dirt poor. He often went hungry. But he’s determined to remember
the good times only. Nowadays, he says, he seldom thinks about the
bad times. They are just events that happened in the past and they
don’t worry him anymore.

“
You know, Cheryl, despite the rapid
progress of human kind in so many areas, the subject we know least
about is ourselves, how our minds work. We’re still not that far
ahead of our primate cousins when it comes to emotions –
particularly understanding them. We’re like babes emotionally,
we....”

Johan stopped midstream, all at once
embarrassed by his attempt at philosophising.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess that must have
sounded pretty pompous.”

The young woman gave a velvety laugh –
music to his ears.

“
That was quite a speech, Johnny – for
you.”

Johan De Vries blushed slightly. “Did it do
the trick?” he asked.

Cheryl York’s frown returned. “I don’t know,”
she said. “Maybe, perhaps… But thank you for trying. I love you for
that…

“
Oh, I’m being irrational, I know,” she
continued. “But I have such a
bad
feeling, like our world is going to
end.”

Escape
•
“Operation Valkyrie”

The assembly of planet heads dispersed after
having agreed that Lars’s plan had merit and offered, perhaps,
their only hope of rescue and salvation.

Lord Southern, Sir Henry, Major Waterman,
Caroline, and Lars sat down hidden from the view of their guards by
two hundred now jovial and excited prisoners to work out the
details. Some of the other planet heads stood close by in the hope
of overhearing how the plan might work.

“Now, all we have to do is get you out of
here to explain your idea to the queen,” Lord Southern said.

His hand shot up as Lars started to protest.
“No, no, you must go, Lars. It’s your idea after all. And from what
I hear you’ve proved yourself a very resourceful and mettlesome
young man for the cause already.” He gave a short laugh. “Anyway,
you’ll be far more use at Her Majesty’s side than one of these…
these old war dogs.”

He waved a hand of bony fingers at a grinning
Sir Henry and Rupert Waterman.

Lord Southern took Caroline’s hands in his.
“And we’re going to send the lovely young Lady Caroline with you.
She will be your credentials once you reach Earth.

“I don’t want you to spend another day in
this dreadful place, m’dear,” he said looking deep into Caroline’s
eyes and smiling broadly. “And I’m sure your father agrees.”

Sir Henry gave a cheery nod.

Lord Southern looked up at the stone vault
above them. He steepled his fingers together as if he were praying,
as people had once done in bygone days.

There was an awkward air of silence as
they watched him, no one wanting to ask the
one
question that was uppermost in
their minds.

At last, Lord Southern dropped his
prayer-like pose and glanced round at the small group of expectant
faces.

“You’re all thinking the old man’s suffering
from senescence, aren’t you?” he said with a soft laugh. “Or that
I’ve gone mad,” he added, his laughter bubbling up so that many of
the prisoners in the vicinity turned to see what the joke was.

“I know we can’t just walk out of here, but I
do have a card or two up my sleeve yet.” He gave a broad wink.
“There’s a joker in every pack, eh Lars? And you can never be sure
where he’s going to pop up next.”

He spread his hands. “It’s very simple,”
he said. “The Megran guards are efficient, but not clever. They
have devised no better security than a head count twice a day.” The
old man’s blue eyes sparkled. “And there are far too many of us to
know by sight – over two hundred souls. And so Lars, if you and
Lady Caroline here were to just say –
disappear
…” He left the
last word hanging.

“But how?” Sir Henry wanted to know.

“And what about the head count you
mentioned?” the major queried. “If Ferdinand finds out anyone has
escaped it could precipitate his attack upon the queen as well as
reprisals upon the hostages. I don’t see how it can work.”

Lord Southern chuckled.

Forgive me, Rupert – Sir Henry, I am
deliberately teasing you all. I’m a wicked old man whose heart is
light and full of hope again, and I’m playing guessing games like a
child.

“
But!” he said, waving a finger at them.
“Let me assure you, there is a way.” His voice dropped to a
conspiratorial whisper. “Tonight, when our evening meal is
delivered, you will meet –
Old Seth
.

“Hmm! I guess I shouldn’t call him that,” he
mused. “He’s quite a bit younger than I. No more than seventy, I
should think. Mind you, his hair is as white as mine and…”

He glanced round suddenly at his audience and
laughed apologetically.

“Oh dear, I am making rather a long winded
story out of it, aren’t I? Please forgive me.” He shook his head.
“I’m an old man and I talk too much even at the best of times, but
particularly when I’m happy.”

He drew a deep breath. “All right, put
simply then, it’s this. The Megran forces are so thin on the ground
throughout the Commonwealth at present, engaged in their war of
conquest as they are, that there are very few of them left to do
the mundane tasks; tasks such as guard duty, not to mention other
more menial duties. Therefore, the Megrans have drafted low
security convicts for the extra help they need – trusted ones, of
course, trusted ones like Old Seth. They bring the prison
trusties
in to prepare
and serve our meals.

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, Old Seth
has offered a way for us to get a few of our key people out.”

“But how reliable is he?” The major was
frowning. “A great deal hangs in the balance…”

Lord Southern gave an emphatic nod. “Very
reliable, I believe. I pride myself on being a good judge of
character. He’s loyal to the queen, and what’s more he says there’s
a large underground movement ready to help overthrow Ferdinand and
his military junta if given half a chance.”

“How does he plan to get us out?” Caroline
asked. “I can’t imagine it being easy.”

Lord Southern gave a low chuckle. “Well it’s
quite straightforward really, but it would be best if you spoke to
Old Seth, himself, he’ll be here soon. He will be able to answer
your questions better than I can.”

* * *

Lars was standing at the cage bars waiting
with the major and Sir Henry when the column of twenty big
stainless steel kitchen trolleys rattled into view bearing dozens
of steaming pots of food apiece. Two convict attendants were
required to push each one, while another helped guide the
cumbersome steerage.

The Megran guards opened the cage door,
pushing the prisoners back with shouts and curses, their Bess
rifles thrusting like batons. The queen’s side replied with
mutinous taunts and insults.

Once the trolleys were inside the cage
perimeter, the guards retreated hastily, locking the cage door
behind them.

The trolleys were trundled into a circle
like a defensive wagon train. Most of the trusties were men, but
there was a sprinkling of women as well. All were wearing bright
orange prison overalls, with
Prisoner
in bold white letters
stencilled back and front.

Lars scanned the newcomers looking for the
man called Old Seth, but the milling crowd of prisoners hungry for
food quickly surrounded the stainless steel circle obscuring his
view. Plastic bowls and spoons, the only utensils allowed, were
distributed, and queues quickly formed, the clamour almost
deafening.

A voice behind Lars spoke. Lord Southern was
there with Caroline beside him.

“Come Lars,” the old man said quietly, his
eyes bright with anticipation. “We have an appointment with
destiny.”

* * *

Old Seth was busy ladling out prison stew. He
looked up as they approached. His small pale blue eyes lit up when
he saw Lord Southern.

Lars studied the man they were about to
entrust their hopes with, maybe even their lives.

Seth was of average height and rather
corpulent. He bulged as if he carried a spare tyre at the waist.
The fleshy red of his face was in marked contrast to his mop of
white hair. His orange overalls were at least two sizes too small
for him, and had caused the zip fly to pop open.

“Evening milord,” Old Seth said, grinning
broadly. Two front teeth protruded, one crossed partly over the
other. “May I tempt you to some stew, sir? Can’t recommend it, I’m
afraid, but the soup’s worse.” He held up the ladle and let the
lumpy brown liquid splatter back into the pot.

Lord Southern smiled. “Yes, thank you, Seth,
the stew will be fine. Oh, and while you’re getting that,” his
voice now dropped to a whisper, “perhaps you could tell me how soon
you can arrange for my two young friends here to leave? Oh, and
their likelihood of getting a quick trip to Earth,” he added.
“That’s just as important.”