First Admiral 01 First Admiral

by William J. Benning

  It was the lapel and collar of Jennifer Martin’s blazer. Having done up the buttons, and turned up the collar, to keep out the cold, the garment now gave Billy Caudwell the purchase to hang onto her. His grip kept her confined, still struggling, kicking and screaming almost one hundred feet above the pavement. Despite her thin and almost emaciated frame, Jennifer Martin still weighed agonizingly heavily in Billy’s outstretched arms. To the spectators below there was a cacophony of girlish shrieks, screams and yells, accompanying a flicker of thrashing legs. It was a sight that left their hearts in their mouths, fearing for the worst.

  Their concerns were a million kilometres away from the mind of Billy Caudwell. Having gotten hold of her lapel and collar, he now struggled to hold onto his catch. The next six seconds felt like six hours of interminable agony. It was as if someone was trying to pull his arms out of their sockets. For one brief moment, he had the panic-stricken feeling that he was being pulled off the ledge by the weight and momentum of the struggling girl. He let out one last despairing enraged shout of exertion, frustration and terror, fully expecting to be falling through empty space within a few moments.

  When, suddenly, blessed relief swept over him, as the cavalry arrived. Kenneth Brown was there too; the young teacher, his face set sternly, a mask of determination, leaned over and stretched his sport strengthened arms over the wall. With both hands, he seized the kicking and screaming Jennifer Martin by the arm and blazer lapel, before he bodily hauled her back to safety, dragging Billy Caudwell with her. Billy, having been pulled back, found Jennifer being torn from his grasp. The violence of the motion painfully and bloodily tore out two finger nails on his left hand. Relieved of the heavy struggling burden, he collapsed in a heap against the inside aspect of the wall, exhausted, trembling with delayed shock, terrified out of his mind and bleeding from his fingers.

  “Stop it, Jennifer!” Kenneth Brown yelled into the face of the kicking and screaming Jennifer Martin.

  He pinioned her arms against her body, pushing her against the dark slated slope of the roof. For a few seconds Jennifer continued to resist, and then dissolved into tears, collapsing into his arms, the great wracking sobs being torn from the very core of her being.

  “There, there, it’s all right Jennifer, you’re safe now,” he soothed her, as by rights, her father should have soothed her all those years before “are you all right, Caudwell?” he turned his attention to Billy.

  “I, I, I,” Billy stammered, “I really don’t know, sir,” he replied looking in shock and disbelief at the blood soaked mess of two of the fingertips of his left hand.

  Strangely, Billy could feel no pain from what would obviously be a very painful injury. The nails from his middle and fore finger were torn backwards and held in place by a few shreds of flesh.

  “Yep, we’d better let a doctor see those,” Mr. Brown intoned still holding the loudly sobbing Jennifer Martin, when two uniformed police officers came bursting through the doorway at the end of the pathway.

  “It’s all right gentlemen, we’ve got her!” Kenneth Brown called to them, “but this brave young man needs some medical attention for his hand!”

  “All right, sir,” one of the police officers said approaching Mr. Brown “we’ll take care of her now, but we’ll want statements from both of you, so don’t go anywhere,” he added in a tone that sounded to Billy rather like a warning.

  “Sandy, go and get an ambulance for this young laddie,” the policeman called to his colleague, who promptly went back down the staircase.

  Turning his attention to the uncontrollably weeping and terrified Jennifer Martin, the policeman gently took her from Mr. Brown in as careful and fatherly a way as he knew how. “Come along now Miss, let’s get you sorted out,” he soothed and carried her away.

  When the policemen had gone, Kenneth Brown sat down against the sloping roof opposite Billy Caudwell.

  “You’re a brave young man Caudwell, William isn’t it?” he asked, “here, put this over your fingers,” he added handing Billy a handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

  Billy silently nodded his thanks, and gently started to wrap the piece of material around his ravaged and bleeding fingertips. Grimacing with the pain, trying not to move his fingers unless he had to, and despite the aching in his arms, he managed to formulate a bandage-like cover. It would just have to do until they could treat it properly.

  Mr. Brown fished a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. He lit up and drew a great lungful of smoke down before releasing it in a great sigh of relief.

  “They usually call me Billy,” was his weary response, slightly surprised that someone as athletic as Mr. Brown smoked.

  “Well, Billy Caudwell, you saved that girl’s life today; you should be very proud of yourself,” Kenneth Brown praised taking his first long comforting draw of the cigarette.

  Under different circumstances Billy would have blushed with embarrassment, however, he was now in pain, bleeding, feeling sick, dizzy and just too dog-tired to care about anyone’s opinion.

  “I’m sorry you lost your job, sir,” Billy said weakly after a long pause, staring blankly at the slates of the sloping roof.

  “Why, thank you, Billy,” Kenneth Brown smiled, crossing his ankles and taking another long draw at his cigarette, “But, after today, I don’t, somehow, think that it will be me who is out of a job,” he said, and began to laugh.

  Billy began to laugh too, out of sheer relief now that the ordeal was over.

  Yet, what he really wanted to do was to throw up.

  Chapter 34

  It was just after one o’clock, the following day that Billy’s mother arrived home from work and relieved his grandparents of baby-sitting duty. The events of the previous day had left Billy dog-tired and in pain from his damaged fingers. However, before finally collapsing from exhaustion on his own bed, Billy Caudwell had slipped into the P.E.S.

  That night, the P.E.S. had read his vital signs and began the work of repairing the damage to his body. The Mind-Link had started by stimulating his brain with Phoronic radiation to produce the body’s natural painkiller, and then to put him to sleep. That way, the P.E.S. could focus the body’s energies on stimulating the cell growth required to repair the damaged nail beds. The finger nails themselves would still take weeks to re-grow, but at least it would be painless for Billy.

  Having woken up late, Billy was delighted to find that his parents had left them in the charge of his paternal grandparents for the morning. He saw so little of his grandfather who had the easy manner and understanding that allowed Billy to talk to him in a way that he never could with his father. As with most good things in life, the morning passed far too quickly for Billy before his mother returned home. As they said their goodbyes to his grandparents, Elizabeth Caudwell picked up the innocent looking plain brown envelope that was to turn all of their lives upside down.

  It was lying on the cupboard, just behind the front door that held the electricity meter, on top of which usually stood the day’s delivered mail. Closing the front door, absent-mindedly, with her hip, she scooped open the envelope with her right thumb, and took out the single sheet of typed white paper and began to read. It took her a few seconds and several steps into the living room to actually grasp the contents of the letter. She read it once, not quite comprehending the contents, and then with rising excitement, her racing heart thumping against the inside of her ribs, she read it again. The third reading convinced her that the first two readings were not an illusion, and she let out a stifled squeal of excitement.

  The letter was from a Mr. George Teddington from Teddington International Publications, who wished to offer her an advance of two thousand pounds for her book, “My Lost Little Angel”. Elizabeth Caudwell, reading the letter for a fourth time, sat down, once again, absent-mindedly, on the slightly threadbare family sofa. Setting the letter down on the cushioned seat next to her she sat, shell-shocked, her heart racing and the blood ringing in her ears.

>   “Two thousand pounds,” she said softly, as if reassuring herself that the letter and its offer were genuine.

  Then she was struck with a panic. “What would she tell John?” she asked herself. “He would be really pleased with all that money, wouldn’t he?” After all, they were struggling to make ends meet at the best of times.

  They could certainly use a sum of money like that to pay off the hire purchase on the suite, the beds, the carpets, the car and maybe even think about new curtains. Then, with whatever was left they could pay back what they had borrowed from his parents. With her mind resolved to tell her husband the good news as soon as he got home, she remembered that she had an injured son upstairs. Carefully she folded the letter and placed it back into the torn envelope, as she stood up, and slid it into the right pocket of her shop uniform jacket. Then, she trotted happily up the stairs to check on her son.

  Around three o’clock, John Caudwell drew up in the family’s well worn and well used car. The bright yellow, box-like Hillman Imp, which, even then, was over two decades old, drew to a halt in its traditional parking spot on the public street. Billy had christened the family vehicle the Hillman Limp due to its unfailing ability to splutter, lurch and cut out at the most importune moments.

  As he wearily trudged up the path, filthy and grimy from another shift at the local plastics factory, John Caudwell was assailed by his near hysterically excited wife. Even in his wearied state he managed to glean some words from the inane babble that issued from her mouth. Words like book, publisher and money somehow broke through into his befuddled, exhausted consciousness, and she seemed to be waving a sheet of paper in front of him. With all the patience he could summon, after nine hours in front of a machine at a mind numbing, soul destroying job, he managed to calm her down sufficiently. He took the letter from her and began to read it. Accompanied by Elizabeth Caudwell’s excited chatter, it took John Caudwell three reads of the Teddington letter to fully grasp what had happened.

  Sitting at the foot of the open plan stairs, next to the telephone, Billy Caudwell watched the unfolding proceedings with an air of slightly detached glee. His mother was about to become a published author, to make lots of money and never have to work in that horrible shop again. Billy also had a plan for his father to be a great and successful computer scientist and inventor. Still smiling softly to himself, Billy watched his father read the letter again and then let out a ‘whoop’ of pure delight before he grabbed Elizabeth Caudwell and kissed her squarely on the mouth. For a moment she ceased her babble, taken by surprise by the kiss, before being bodily lifted from the ground and swung round in his strong arms.

  Billy Caudwell looked on, and smiled to himself, as his parents cavorted like excited children. Feeling very pleased with himself he resolved that he would retrieve the other data sphere that he had set aside on Garmauria, just as soon as he possibly could.

  Chapter 35

  That evening, when he was alone in his room pretending to be asleep, Billy had teleported up to the Black Rose, and headed for the Thexxian planet. Billy knew that the Thexxians had voted on the question of joining the Alliance the previous evening, and it was with some trepidation that he made contact with the planet.

  Within moments of making contact with the Thexxian Ground Defence Installation, the familiar olive-skinned face of Praetor Maximus Falkus Margallan appeared on Billy’s monitor.

  “First Admiral Caudwell,” Margallan broke into a wide toothy smile, “the most wonderful news!” he announced.

  “The referendum went well then?” Billy asked anxiously.

  “Nearly three million voted in favour of the Alliance!” the grinning Margallan crowed jubilantly.

  That was good news, Billy considered, letting out a small mental sigh of relief. Almost ninety percent of the adult population had voted in favour of joining the Alliance. To Billy Caudwell, there was a moment of unreality about the news. Until that moment, the Universal Alliance was still just an abstract concept in his mind, born from the mind of a dead Garmaurian leader. Now, well, there was something concrete and tangible. There were people prepared to join the Alliance, to give it flesh and substance. The idea of the Universal Alliance would not just be a fantasy-like structure in the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy from a backwater planet called Earth.

  “Praetor Maximus,” Billy responded with a smile, “that is really good news!”

  “Come down to my office, First Admiral, we must celebrate,” Margallan announced and the transmission ceased.

  On arrival, Billy was shocked to see a small group of dark-clad placard waving demonstrators on the Landing Platform being held back by a squad of Civil Militia. Their placards called for “No Treaty of Alliance” and “Free Thexxia”. The demonstrators were agitating, and seemed to be calling out to Billy, although being too far away to hear, he was not quite certain of what they were saying. The Civil Militia escort, in their light green uniforms, led Billy swiftly away from the scene and towards the teleporter to the Praetor Maximus’ Offices.

  “It would appear that last evenings decision was not, shall we say, universally popular Praetor Maximus?” Billy asked half jokingly as Margallan rose to greet him from behind his large Garmaurian grey work desk.

  “First Admiral, I apologise for the unpardonable behaviour of some of my people,” Falkus said smoothly rising from his seat behind the desk, littered with the paraphernalia and documentation of government.

  “No need Praetor Maximus, the right to disagree with those who govern us is fundamental to the new Alliance,” Billy replied, and sat down in the chair at the small table as indicated by his host.

  “Well, yes, First Admiral, however, I fear things are more serious than just a few discontented agitators,” the Praetor Maximus looked genuinely worried, as he started to pace the spacious brightly lit office, which concerned Billy.

  “How serious is it Praetor Maximus, if you don’t mind me asking?” Billy probed, knowing that Thexxian internal politics was not the domain of the Universal Alliance.

  “There have been disturbances throughout the complex, First Admiral, which has postponed the dispersal of the population into the civilian accommodations,” Falkus began, “if disorder becomes widespread we would not be able to contain it with the Civil Militia resources we have, thus jeopardising lives and property. A Separatist movement has sprung up almost instantly, making me suspect that these actions are planned, organised and coordinated.”

  “That does indeed sound serious. Do you have any idea who is behind it?” Billy sympathised.

  “I suspect one of the Praetors by the name of Gallus Bulbore,” Falkus said wryly, continuing to pace agitatedly, “I defeated her in the last Praetorian election, and it would appear she has not quite forgotten it,” Falkus said.

  “So, what do you plan to do about it Praetor Maximus?” Billy asked watching Falkus prowl across the light grey Garmaurian carpeting.

  “First Admiral, I plan to do nothing about it just yet,” the Praetor Maximus smiled his mood changing almost instantly, “I plan to celebrate the new Alliance, and lead the Thexxian people into a new era of safety, peace and prosperity,” he added lifting a small electronic reading device that held the files he was currently working with, “come let us walk in the gardens.”

  “An admirable ambition Praetor Maximus,” Billy smiled as they headed out through the large windows into the formal gardens.

  The formal gardens weren’t quite as formal as Billy had expected. The years of neglect inflicted upon the garden by years of civil war, and the eventual abandonment of the colony, were still glaringly obvious.

  It was a warm day, and the early twin-sun shone brightly down from the bright pink sky onto the seven young, green-uniformed Thexxian soldiers who sweated and toiled to clear the debris, roots and dead plant life from the distressed garden. Disciplinary Detail, Billy considered, looking at the sweaty and morose young soldiers who strained and struggled with the strange alien garden implements in their hands. An ol
der Thexxian female, clad in black, was instructing them gently in the use of the strange items, where the soldiers should work and what she required done with the materials they collected. Close by, a thick set, burly N.C.O. from the Thexxian military clarified her requests in a way that less cooperative young soldiers understood.

  “We do, however, have various matters to discuss with reference to our new Alliance,” Falkus mentioned as if embarrassed to bring up the subject.

  “I am sure we can iron out any minor wrinkles,” Billy lapsed into the Diplomat-speak he was growing accustomed to with the Thexxian Head of State as they walked on through the remains of the garden.

  “We have a few minor amendments we would like to make to the draft Treaty of Alliance, First Admiral,” Falkus said, “they’re more clarifications than amendments really.”

  “Please, Praetor Maximus,” Billy invited the Thexxian to continue.

  More amendments, Billy thought to himself. He was tiring of the constant adjustments that the Thexxians were requesting to the draft Treaty of Alliance, which would bring his dream of the Alliance into being. The Thexxians for all their organisational and administrative skills, could be dreadfully pedantic at times, Billy considered

  “The Treaty does not explicitly mention that five percent of our military potential be utilised on New Thexxia for self-defence purposes,” Falkus said.

  “The clause is left vague mainly to allow flexibility in arrangement,” Billy said working his mind into the lengthy document drawn up by the now dead Teg Maggor.