First Admiral 01 First Admiral

by William J. Benning

  Billy already knew Bulbore’s face well, but Timmelin was one of the numerous sub-Generals that he vaguely recognised from the discussions around transferring military personnel to Alliance control. Having gotten over his initial gaffe, Karap, getting into the body of his report, was starting to calm down. He knew his material and the auto-pilot of his rehearsed presentation was taking over.

  “The meetings usually took place in locations beneath the accommodation sections of the complex,” continued Karap touching another sheet, with his fingers, which produced a three-dimensional holographic diagram of the area of the Garmaurian base that the Thexxians were occupying.

  Red lights flashed in locations below the living quarters indicating where clandestine meetings had taken place. Some of these meetings had taken place after the Civil Curfew, so the association with some form of illegal activity was undeniable.

  “The meeting locations could only have been accessed via the ventilation ducting tunnels after curfew,” Karap touched the sheet again and a series of blue tunnel schematics linked the meeting locations with Bulbore’s and Timmelin’s quarters.

  “They also appear to be the linking factor on the locations of the bomb incidents,” Karap added and touching the sheet again superimposed small white icons onto the blue tunnels.

  Touching the three sheets again, Karap made their holographic projections disappear and produced a fourth sheet which he tapped with his finger. Another 3-D schematic of the Thexxian living quarters appeared with green icons beneath some of the dormitories.

  “Our surveillance indicates weapons caches at these locations, sir,” Karap said, now devoid of nerves as he was completely engrossed in his own presentation, “and the meeting traffic plus audio and visual surveillance suggests they are planning to use them sometime soon, possibly, and, I’m speculating here, sir, the Treaty Signing Ceremony.”

  For dramatic effect Karap touched the sheet again and highlighted the Great Auditorium, in the middle of the Garmaurian City, flashing in white, in the middle of the ring of weapon caches.

  “So, they’ve been working outside the confines of the military base,” Billy pondered, “Officer Sownus, that’s a good job you’ve done there,” Billy praised the now calmed Senior Intelligence Officer.

  However, the look of concern on the First Admiral’s face was noted by Karap Sownus. Karap quickly recognised that the First Admiral was taking his warnings seriously. Despite his near-comedic entrance to the briefing, the First Admiral was shrewd and astute enough to recognise a major threat. This human was no fool, Karap thought, despite his young years.

  “Thank you, sir,” Karap had the good sense to sit back and keep silent.

  Only now did Karap Sownus hear the oppressive silence of the cabin, with the threatening faint underscore of the hum of an engine somewhere. Being able to think for the first time in several minutes, Karap started to feel that he might just have done an adequate job.

  “You have no confirmation of the Separatist’s intentions?” Billy asked.

  “Based on the evidence, sir, and short of capturing and interrogating Bulbore or Timmelin, I would speculate a seventy-five percent chance of an attack on the Treaty Signing Ceremony,” Karap gave his honest opinion.

  “Yes, it would be the obvious high value target, wouldn’t it?” Billy said running his fingers through his hair and down over his nose and mouth as if he were praying.

  “Sir, we could deploy security protocols to protect the Great Auditorium,” Karap suggested.

  “Yes, that’s quite a wise move Senior Intelligence Officer,” Billy said pensively and then took a decision, “Right, leave a copy of this with me, and present your report at the Security Briefing tomorrow morning. I want the Senior Security Officer and yourself in here, this time, tomorrow night with a plan to protect the Ceremony,” Billy ordered, standing up.

  He took a swig of his tea and winced as he found it had gone cold.

  “Good job, Officer Sownus, now go and get some rest,” Billy said.

  Karap Sownus, saluting correctly this time, waddled out through the door to the main corridor.

  Outside, as the force shield of the door restored, he let out a huge sigh. Slowly, he leaned back against the comfortingly solid force shielding of the First Admiral’s door, closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards. He then cursed himself, for a clumsy idiot, and started waddling down the corridor towards the Security Officer’s quarters. Again he castigated and cursed himself as he walked away, but slowly began to realise that he might be able to redeem himself, or at least some of his self-respect, if he produced a good Security Plan tomorrow.

  With one final curse at himself, and a shake of his head, Karap Sownus waddled down the corridor to find the Security Officer and to salvage a little bit of pride.

  Chapter 44

  On the surface of New Thexxia, the thought foremost in the mind of Praetor Maximus Falkus Margallan was how was he going to hold his people together. The rescue of the fifty-two thousand Thexxian slave miners, from the Touway mining installation, had produced a major surge of public opinion in Margallan’s favour. However, the campaign of violence by the Separatists continued unabated. Only the previous night, when most of New Thexxia was celebrating the return of the slave miners, the Civil Militia had discovered that someone had planted an explosive device in the studios of the Monitor Broadcasting Service. Falkus had expected the violence to resume, however, he had expected the period of respite to last until the signature of the Treaty of Alliance.

  To Falkus it came as a huge personal disappointment that the explosive device had been primed to detonate during the signing of the Treaty. In response to the threat, Falkus had increased the Civil Militia patrols around the vital strategic Government areas in the former Garmaurian military installation. The decision to decant the population into the Garmaurian civilian quarters had been postponed in the light of limited Civil Militia resources. They were simply unable to guarantee public safety and security.

  As Billy Caudwell was landing the Back Rose aboard the Aquarius, Falkus Margallan was agitatedly pacing the floor of his Inner Office. The Civil Militia commander had just reported that she was expecting an increase in violence, despite the curfew that had been imposed, within the living quarters. Falkus Margallan had been asked to provide the Civil Militia Commander with lock down authority. So, in a time of severe public disorder, the Civil Militia Commander had the authority to lock down and isolate sections of the facility. This was to trap and isolate wrongdoers prior to arrest and legal procedure.

  “Has it really gone this far?” Falkus Margallan thought to himself.

  The significance of lock down authority was not lost upon the Praetor Maximus. He loved and cherished personal freedom and freedom of speech above almost everything else. Giving the Civil Militia lock down authority was one step away from martial law. To Falkus Margallan that was the greatest travesty that could be visited upon a free people.

  Sitting at the small circular side table, next to his large working desk, the Praetor Maximus stared at the document that would give the Civil Militia a range of Emergency Powers short of martial law and shoot to kill. He would have to present the request to the High Council, who would, after a great deal of heated argument, authorise the signature of the instrument. One more layer of freedoms stripped away from the Thexxian people, Margallan thought to himself. He stared at the document on his table hoping that by sheer force of will it would simply disappear along with the rest of the Separatist problem.

  Unfortunately, for Falkus Margallan, any magical or mystical powers that he may have possessed had deserted him. He closed his eyes and wracked his brain for a solution to the dilemma. When he opened them again, the document was still there. It sat motionless and brutally real on the table, and struck at his conscience like an accusing finger. He had failed, he thought, he had failed at the final hurdle. He had led his people across half a galaxy, away from the Bardomil, through all the dangers, the battles, staving off
one crisis after another. He had now brought them to the point of disintegration.

  He had found them a new home, safe and secure from the Bardomil. They had a standard of living they could scarcely dream of only a few weeks previously. Now, they were fragmenting and breaking apart. The Separatists were tearing apart all of his hard work, struggles and achievements of the last fifteen years in the space of less than a few weeks. Angered and frustrated by his lack of ideas, Falkus suddenly threw the document from the table into the corner of the room. He stared at it for a few moments, letting his rage and frustration flow from him.

  “Well,” he thought to himself, “that solved a lot didn’t it?” Like scolding a spoiled child, he castigated himself, and, almost ashamed of his outburst, walked over to pick up the thrown document. The High Council Meeting was due in only a few minutes, and he was rapidly running out of options.

  He had found none of the outcomes particularly pleasant. Imposing martial law upon the Thexxian people was simply not an option for Falkus. They would simply not tolerate such an infringement of their liberties, especially after the hardship of their exodus from Thexxia. It was bad enough trying to keep ahead of the public debates at a time of civil curfew and restrictions. If he imposed martial law, Falkus Margallan feared it would ignite full-scale, open, civil war. If he decided to withdraw from the Treaty of Alliance with Caudwell, then he would find himself with the Thexxian people back aboard their dangerously inadequate space vessels. They would then be faced with the prospect of running out of food within a few months or falling prey to one of the inevitable Bardomil patrols. The scanners on the planet had shown that there were no inhabitable planets within five light years of New Thexxia. So, the position from which Caudwell had rescued them offered even less chance of survival.

  Apart from which, he considered, the majority of the Thexxian people had realised their situation was utterly hopeless and had voted for the Alliance. It was a minority of some indeterminate size, who did not want to join the Alliance, and were causing so much trouble and heartache.

  Whichever way he cut the problem, he returned to the same solution. If people did not want to join the new Universal Alliance, then they should be allowed to go their own way. It would cause a schism of the Thexxian people. There was no doubt in his mind that tens of thousands of Thexxians would perish in whatever form this new exodus would take. Too many Thexxians had already perished for yet more of them to die needlessly in space.

  But, his great plan to bring all of the Thexxian people together, and unite them, by asking Caudwell to track down and return any survivors from the first exodus had failed.

  The resolve of the Separatists seemed to have remained unbroken. There had been celebrations and festivities which were later marred by the ugliest violence he had ever witnessed outside of a military action. Falkus could see no other way out of the predicament other than secession for the Separatists. Maybe, he hoped rather wistfully, that when presented with the reality of returning to the space vessels, and a certain death, many would lose their fervour. However, he knew that it was a wishful thought. The Separatist propaganda had convinced many that it was scaremongering by the Government that kept them trapped on this planet and denied the freedom to find their own way.

  He cursed Gallus Bulbore, once again, knowing in his heart that she was behind all of this. However, he had not a shred of proof to support his opinion. He had considered simply arresting her and any and all of her associates, but without proof, that would have meant a suspension of the Thexxian Constitution.

  Falkus Margallan would rather put a projectile pistol to his own head than overturn centuries of Constitutional Democracy. The Thexxian people would not tolerate a tyrant. Simply murdering Bulbore was also an option he had considered in the depths of his deepest rage. However, he knew that she was too well protected. The knowledge of any agent, if traced back to him, would destroy the Thexxian people. Killing Bulbore would achieve nothing, except perhaps the rise of someone even worse than Bulbore. To make a martyr out of Gallus Bulbore would plunge the Thexxians into a ruinous civil war that would take generations to recover from.

  There was no other alternative, he considered, slipping into the formal robes of the Praetor Maximus and staring at the document in his hand. Strange, he thought to himself, holding the few sheets of fragile material. It weighs so little in my hand, yet in my head and heart it is so unbearably heavy, he considered. Then, leaden footed and reluctantly, he stepped through the door to the Outer Office, and then out into the corridor to make his way to the High Council Chamber. If he had been a gambler he would have resigned from the game a long time ago. He tried to remember the words that Caudwell had once spoken to him from one of his Earth books that seemed so apt to his situation.

  “Uneasy rests the head that wears the Crown.”

  Chapter 45

  For Billy Caudwell, school had ceased to be the nightmare it had once been. The Personal Environment Suit kept him safe from injury, and, there was also a new confidence about him that his parents and some of the teachers had noticed. It wasn’t the brash, loud and showy confidence of youth and inexperience, but rather a quieter, gentler, more self-assured confidence that was normally associated with someone with much greater maturity. With the signing of the Treaty of Alliance with the Thexxians weighing heavily in his mind, Billy seemed to spend his first days back at school in a bit of a daze. The new Interim Headmistress, Mrs. Grant, had been warned that Billy would still be taking pain medication for his damaged fingers, and it was to this that his class teachers ascribed his lack of attention during lessons.

  Kenneth Brown, newly appointed to Interim Deputy Head, had welcomed Billy back to school on the playground before first bell. In his absence, Billy had become something of a celebrity in the town. A notoriety he wished would disappear as quickly as it had arisen. He really did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Sitting in his first lesson, Billy cursed himself for a fool in saving Jennifer Martin, yet, what else could he have done, he asked himself. He couldn’t have let her fall to her death he asserted.

  It had been him, Billy Caudwell, who had saved her life. He hadn’t been wearing the P.E.S., to protect him or enhance his strength and abilities. It had been only him, Billy Caudwell, risking life and limb. He had done it. He had done it all by himself. Well, almost all by himself; Mr. Brown had been there, thankfully, to pull them both back to safety before they ended up as red splashes on the pavement below.

  So, Billy Caudwell was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he sat on the low wall overlooking the school lawn. It was a lovely warm summer day, yet Billy wished it could be over quickly. He wanted to get back to New Thexxia to ensure that the Treaty was signed with as little trouble as possible. Rescuing the slave miners had done his credit, and that of Praetor Maximus, Falkus Margallan, absolutely no harm whatsoever. Yet, the trouble being caused by the Thexxian Separatists annoyed Billy intensely. He could not understand why these Thexxians did not want to be part of the Alliance. The Alliance would give them everything; protection, a home, a standard of living they could scarcely have dreamt of only a few weeks before. Yet, there were still some who would reject that offer. Billy shook his head, stood up and turned to head back to his class, when he caught sight of Julie Martin staring at him with a look of pure hatred.

  Meeting her gaze, he smiled softly to her, watching her every response and movement. His previous experience of Miss Julie Martin had made Billy extremely wary of her, and he would trust her as far as he could spit her. Being smiled at by Billy Caudwell was disconcerting and uncomfortable for Julie Martin. She had, initially, planned to stride up to him and simply begin hitting him, injured arm or not.

  However, having been caught by his gaze, something made her abandon her original plan. She couldn’t explain it, but an instinct told her not to approach him. She initially reasoned to herself that she could not attack someone who was already injured, it wasn’t fair. Yet, not being fair had never bother
ed her when she had forced girls of twelve and thirteen years old to hand over their money to her. Billy Caudwell would keep until later in the day, when there were no teachers around to protect him from her vengeance, she smiled to herself.

  Lunchtime came and went, as did the afternoon break, without an opportunity for Julie Martin to get near to Billy Caudwell. After the final bell, the usual rush of excited students, escaping from their day’s lessons and confinement, had burst forth from the building. They had turned the serene and stately building into a swarming, screaming and yelling chaos. Julie had finished washing her face and had waited until the rest of the students had left. Then, she had trotted out of the large green painted main door to the school. It was then that Julie Martin saw her red-haired objective dashing for the school gates as fast as his injured hand would allow him.

  “Billy! Billy Caudwell!” she called smiling sweetly.

  Billy, hearing his name called stopped in his tracks and saw to his annoyance and great suspicion that it was Julie Martin.

  “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously, halting in his tracks and turning to face her.

  “Look Billy,” she simpered sweetly, “we really got off on the wrong foot didn’t we?” she wheedled as she approached him.

  “What do you mean ‘we’?” Billy challenged, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “O.K., that was my fault, but please don’t be angry,” she cajoled digging deep into her reserves of insincerity and play acting, “I just wanted to say that I was sorry, and to thank you for saving Jenny,” she smiled.

  When she was within striking distance she let fly with yet another kick to his groin. This time, however, Billy was ready. He had read the warning signs; her mouth may have smiled but her eyes showed flat, cold hatred.