The Sword and the Plough (34 page)

She heard a gasp, which was her own, and
her dark eyes fluttered open and stared wide. The
Daring’s
bridge was
there and her bridge chair too, but where the battleship had been,
was now a white-hot glow, like a miniature supernova. And all
around, swift bright patterns of whirling debris were soaring out
into the vastness of the empty dark.

The unbelievable had happened - a lucky
shot or some ancient god? She did not know. But she was alive and
the enemy destroyed. What mattered more for the moment?

The other hostiles now turned and fled, and
she let them go. She had no care for what her captains might dare
to think or say. They had defended the space lanes for the good
queen’s fleet, and that had been their purpose after all.

* * *

Commander Usha Sinha stared out through
the transparent dome of the
Daring’s
bridge. Everything was going well. All
around her was the clatter and hiss of tools as robots and
crewmembers alike worked to replace the burnt-out computer and make
repairs to the damaged hull. But there was more. Everywhere about,
the air was vibrant with the exhilaration of their victory. Every
crewmember’s face was bright with relief and pride, every face, but
one…

The commander stared out into the endless
dark. She knew her crew well and there was not an entry in their
personal files she could not bring back instantly to mind when the
occasion required it. According to the entry under family, Able
Spaceman, Jared John Riddick, had a widowed mother living on the
planet, Earth, and an uncle, a commander in the Megran
fleet.

The boy had just reduced the number of his
living relatives by half.

“On your left, Lars!” Hakim shouted.

“
I see him!” Lars swung the laser-share
around on its crude built mount – fired and missed. But it mattered
little. The blast from the near miss caused the enemy trooper to
lose control of his silver horse and collide with another throwing
both riders to the ground, their machines careering into the smoke
and dust to cause more mayhem. Megran horses were everywhere, at
times too numerous to avoid each other.

“
Good shooting, Lars,” Hakim cried exultant
from the driver’s seat of the plough. “Two with one shot – that’s
showing ’em.”

But the fierce circle of horses around them
came on still.

The ploughs had formed into a defensive
square with the hostages on foot inside. Like some ancient phalanx,
battle weary behind its shields, the square was moving slowly
across the open, away from the fort, in the direction of the
nearest sturdy black stone fence. The fence would provide cover of
sorts. They had no further plan than that.

Of the hundred war-changed ploughs that had
begun the day only fifty-seven remained. Behind each trigger, a
grim faced farmer waged battle just to go home again, his fervour
for the cause forgotten.

“Here they come again!”

“Steady Hakim, steady!” Lars pulled down on
the laser-share bringing its barn-built sights to bear on the fast
moving targets. They came in on all sides of the square at once,
swift and cruel like sharks. Like a bad dream, they came…

“
C’mon!” Lars muttered savagely, his jaw
clenched tight. A silver horse, one in hundreds, was coming fast
toward him in his sights.

“C’mon!” His finger curled on the trigger,
squeezing gently. “Get into range!”

The horse seemed to obey.

“Shoot, Lars, shoot!”

His finger jerked on the trigger. The
ploughshare roared and the horse exploded in the beam’s fiery
path.

“
Fire!” The cry echoed in the grey smoke
air and the four sides of the Trionian square erupted in a thunder
of blazing light. From the Megran foe, the blinding blasts of horse
cannon-fire came in sharp reply, explosions everywhere upon the
air.

“
Two on your right, Lars – coming
fast.

“I see ’em.”

“Give it to them good, Lars!”

The laser-share erupted, discharging a
burning beam, but the range was too far.

A shower of white-hot sparks from a near miss
rained down about them, causing them both to scramble under the
cover of the cockpit’s crude armour.

“Damn! That one was close.”

Behind them came the deep boom of an
exploding plough, its crew incinerated. A split second later, there
came another. A golden light now lit the grey air around them. The
eerie glow from the burning ploughs.

“
Lars!” Hakim’s voice was almost lost amid
the crack and smack of Megran cannon fire about them. “We can’t
survive this for too much longer my friend. They out gun us, the
plough shares just don’t have the range.”

Lars looked into his friend’s tired face,
smudged with the grime of smoke and war. “I know,” he said. “But
we’ve got to go on, Hakim. Win or lose, we’ve come too far. There’s
no way back.”

* * *

Lars did not know how long they fought.
Life has no measure on the battlefield
– no past, no future – death stands too close. He
was aware only of the nanosecond of the present, his finger on the
trigger, the smell of fire and smoke, and the awful sights and
sounds of battle.

Take aim
– fire! Take aim – fire!
Nothing else
belonged.

* * *

“
Hold your
fire!”
The cry was rising
from the ploughs behind them.

“Hold your fire! Cease firing!” The farmer in
the plough next to them in the line was waving frantically at them
to stop.

At once, Lars became aware that the flashes
of fire from the enemy cannons too, had ceased, and that the harsh
sounds of battle were fading from the air.

The Megran ranks seemed suddenly in disarray,
many of the Megran horses moving in slow tight circles, as if
uncertain what next to do or where to go.

Lars stood and stared out, and witnessed
the reason for their uncertainty, saw it and felt the burden of it
all lift from his shoulders and his heart begin to sing. None of it
had been in vain…

In one broad line across the near horizon, as
yet like toys upon a green table-top, came a host of red coated
soldiers, riding high on bright silver horses. They were coming
fast, flashes of sunlight sparkling on weapons and armour, the tall
tail fins of their machines massed against the skyline like a
forest of proud flags.

The soldiers of the queen had
come.

In an instant, the Megran horses were in full
flight, escape the one thought on their minds. They swept past the
phalanx of ploughs in one great flood, the Commonwealth forces in
hot pursuit. And above the high-pitched whine of racing
hover-motors came the sounds of singing, as the farmers and
hostages joined their voices in the ancient hymn of praise for
their queen.

Send her victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to-o reign over us…

* * *

Lars stood in the plough’s cockpit, his gaze
searching the excited throng that now streamed out through the
square of ploughs into the open. He saw his sister, Helen, run out
to join her friends and companions. She turned and waved, and
called to him to come. Then she was swept away by the joyful
crowd.

Hakim jumped down and joined in the
dancing and singing, his dark head whirling and bobbing,
intoxicated with victory.

Lars’s gaze roved on seeing faces that he
knew, men and women, friends and neighbours, Trionians all. But his
elation in the victory was not forthcoming. It seemed he had looked
everywhere, studied every face, seen all but the
one
face
that he
wanted…

The voice that suddenly spoke behind him was
quiet, feminine, and had the distinctive cut-glass accent of an
Earth education.

“Are you looking for someone, Lars?” the
quiet voice asked.

He smiled and turned, a sudden surge of joy
within, and found himself looking into the most beautiful pair of
hazel coloured eyes he had ever seen…

The End

They shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword
against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.

Isaiah 2:4
(New King James version of The Bible)

The Megran
forces on Trion did not put up much resistance after that, and
wisely so, for as the commander of the Commonwealth
Forces told Lars later, the queen had
shown a special interest in Trion and insisted that her own
regiment, the elite of Earth’s fighting forces, be sent there. Only
the best was good enough for Trion, she had said, for after all she
had friends there.

The Megran commander on Trion, General York,
surrendered one hour and fifty-seven minutes after the Commonwealth
landings. Nothing more is known of what became of him.

At the same time, though worlds away, the
VIP hostages held in the cellar prison below Ferdinand’s palace
were spirited away from under the very nose of the prince, himself,
in a daring rescue that came to be known as the
Kitchen-hand Raid
.

The rescue of the hostages on the other
occupied planets, and the success of the counter attacks that
followed, quickly broke Ferdinand’s hold on the peoples of the
Earth Commonwealth of Planets and thwarted his plan of conquest.
Five Earth days later the rebel planet, Megran, surrendered to the
queen’s commander-in- chief, Admiral Arlos, and the fighting was at
an end.

With the Commonwealth once more secure in
the queen’s name, the ploughs, which had done so much in the early
stages of the conflict, returned to their primary task in
the
new fields
of
the black rock planets, and everywhere else the weapons of war took
on the shine of peace once more.

Much has been said and written since about
those days, and many and varied are the schools of thought upon the
matter. However, on three points at least it seems all are
agreed.

One: The transformation of the rock plough
into a weapon of war – the
Kelmutt Weapon
, as it came to be called, was a prime
factor in the ultimate success of the Commonwealth
forces.

Two: If one battle or event can ever be
said to be a turning point in a war, then the destruction of Prince
Ferdinand’s flagship – the battleship, ironically enough
named
Queen Elizabeth V
– by Her Majesty’s cruiser
Daring
was such an event. Megran morale and
feeling of invincibility suffered greatly on that day.

Three: It was perhaps the arrogance of the
aristocrat, and the obsequious praise of his courtiers that led
Prince Ferdinand to deny the extent of the mixed loyalties in his
domain. Many there were who were not firmly allied to the prince’s
ambition, and had definite thoughts of resistance. Thus, when the
tide of battle turned against Ferdinand, and his cause was in
doubt, these groups rose up to seal his fate.

Of Prince Ferdinand, one time governor of the
planet Megran, there is little more history can add. He was never
captured, nor was his body discovered among the dead, and his
whereabouts remains a mystery to this day, though speculation
abounds. Many have it that he escaped to the far-flung fringes of
the Commonwealth where the few surviving pirates dwell in darkness.
Others believe the highest-ranking officers of his realm murdered
him in an attempt to deny their own part in the insurrection, and
that he is buried in an unmarked grave.

* * *

Further Footnote:

As the arrow of time made its way on through
the years, the Lady Caroline became queen in her turn, and her
husband, Lars Kelmutt, was made a prince of the realm.

After a long and successful reign, a reign in
which civilisation blossomed to its finest, Her Majesty, Queen
Caroline, handed over her throne to her eldest child, Helen, named
after her husband’s sister.

Helen became Helen I, queen of the Earth
Commonwealth of Planets in the year 2226 AD. That, however, is
another story.

Scripture taken from the New King James
Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission.
All rights reserved.

The standard
version of
God Save the Queen
is used in this story.
The lyrics are from the
earliest known form of the anthem, its first firm dating being
1745.

God save our
gracious Queen!

Long live our
noble Queen!

God save the
Queen!

Send her victorious,

Happy and
glorious,

Long to reign
over us:

God save the
Queen!

The author is
uncertain…

And, as always, my thanks to Wikipedia for
all those facts and matters, big and small, one needs to check.

Goldilocks Planet

The term, Goldilocks Planet, comes from
the fairy tale
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
.
It describes any planet that
could possibly support life.