TimeStorm

by Steve Harrison

  It was hot under the canopy, tightly packed with the three convicts. Redmond’s body ached, cramped as it was in the small hiding place. His mutilated back itched like the devil and it took all his willpower not to scratch the scabs. Hand was asleep, as usual, but Lockwood was wide awake and deep in thought. And, more importantly, sobering up. As his head cleared he argued that they should revert to their original plan and steal a boat, but soon realised Redmond had set a new course and was resigned to this course of action. Good enough for me, thought Redmond. He gripped Lockwood’s shoulder. “Wake Silas up, quiet like. Then both o’ you foller me lead.”

  Redmond took off his jacket, crawled from the canopy and negotiated his way around a number of objects fastened to the deck. The ship was moving very quickly through the water without sails and the throbbing from below made him uneasy. But it felt good to be at sea with the wind in his face, though memories of navy life mixed with more unhappy thoughts of life as a convict.

  While on the rowing boat before they came aboard, Redmond had studied the ship. The deck on which he crawled was shaped like a horseshoe. The outer edge followed the line of the hull, and the hollow revealed the main deck and a smaller, half-deck fore of the vessel where he remembered seeing the wheel. He moved to the top of the ‘U’ shape and pulled himself over the side. Once his ears were free of the wind, he could hear voices below. The main deck, he saw, was empty, so he pulled himself further over. The voices belonged to two men and a woman. He recognised Blaney’s voice immediately, though it took him a moment or two to remember the other voice belonged to Lieutenant Kite, the foppish officer who Redmond remembered looking down his nose at the convicts when they exercised. The woman was of no consequence.

  He could see them now, an upside down view of the trio’s legs. The woman was indecently dressed in the typical way of females in this land, her legs naked from the knees down. But she was very shapely indeed if her limbs reflected the rest of her proportions. Her unusual name, if Redmond heard Blaney correctly, was Karen. Must be foreign.

  “...and if we can’t find him?” asked Kite.

  Blaney replied. “Tommy is young enough to begin a new life here. We can’t hope to search for him.”

  “And you are too old?” Karen’s voice was sharp. Redmond was intrigued. There was a silence. Then, “I’m sorry, I forgot about your duty!” The words were heavy with sarcasm. And something else.

  “You know what we have to do,” said Blaney, sharply. Redmond picked up an underlying tone in his voice also. So, Blaney had found a woman. A fast worker indeed. The knowledge may prove useful.

  Turning round, Redmond saw Hand and Lockwood were close behind. He signalled to them to make no sound and then took a last look around. The beasts still hovered above, though there was nothing aboard the ship to cause him concern. Over the stern, to starboard, he saw the grassy point where the convicts ran aground early that morning. Troopers climbed over the rocks, while beyond them carriages with flashing blue lights littered the road. But everything was different now. Peaceful. Hard to imagine their desperate struggle had taken place merely hours ago. He took a deep breath and swung over the side, dropping on his feet onto the wheel deck.

  Blaney, Kite and Karen spun around as Redmond hit the deck and pulled the pistol from his waistband. The look of shock on their faces pleased him greatly. “Good aft’noon, gentlemen. And Lady,” he said, jovially. The woman was pretty, though too thin to be beautiful.

  “Redmond!” exclaimed Blaney and Kite together, evidently not fooled by his attire or his clean shaven appearance. Karen was shocked and Kite’s eyes betrayed a satisfying measure of fear. But Blaney’s face revealed nothing. He’d summed up their dilemma in seconds and was now calculating a solution. The convict was wary of the Lieutenant, despite the gun in his hand, and allowed a safe distance between himself and Blaney. Pity I didn’t have time to split the bastard’s head in two during the battle on the Marlin, he thought.

  “Move an’ I’ll shoot yer through!” Redmond told him. “Back off.” The wheel deck was not big, more a long platform across the ship, with the wheel placed to the starboard side in an alcove at the head of stairs leading down to the open main deck. The trio backed away into the wheel area, Blaney shielding Karen with his body. Redmond grinned as he trained his gun on them.

  Lockwood and then Hand dropped down beside him. “We gunna kill ’em?” asked Hand.

  “Aye,” said Redmond, “but I might spare the woman.” His eyes never left Blaney as he spoke. “She’ll be useful fer cookin’ an’ cleanin’. An’ other things!”

  Blaney fought to stay calm, but his eyes gave him away. “Damn your eyes!” he exclaimed. “You have the ship. The woman has nothing to do with any of us. Let her go.”

  Redmond ignored him. He had glanced ahead through the fore window and was alarmed by the view. “Take the wheel, Kite. I’ll not run aground twice in the one day. It don’t sit too well wi’ me an’ the lads.”

  Kite obeyed, turning to swing the wheel hard to starboard, away from the looming headland ahead. For someone so slightly built, Kite handled the wheel with surprising strength, Redmond noted. He let his captives stew for a while, watching as Blaney seethed impotently and Karen stood paralysed behind him. Living for so long in captivity made Redmond savour this moment. He still felt the outrage and hate and urge for revenge that sustained him for so long. But those feelings were all under control now he had the power to satisfy them. It was a beautiful sensation.

  “Where is he?” he asked Blaney. There was no need to foul his breath with the Captain’s name.

  “Go to hell!”

  Redmond took a long stride forward and delivered a blow to Blaney’s head with the pistol. The movement caught the Lieutenant off-guard and opened up his cheek from just below his right eye to the chin. He fell back, stunned and almost knocked Karen down. She was shocked, but then knelt down to minister to Blaney. She treated Redmond to the filthiest of looks.

  “You’re lucky you’re goin’ to die, Blaney. Your whore looks too much of a handful to me!” Redmond’s eyes narrowed. “Now, answer me, man, or I’ll blow off a kneecap.”

  Blaney instinctively drew up his legs, but that only caused Redmond to laugh. “Oh, no, not yours, Mr Blaney.” He aimed the gun at Karen’s legs and squeezed the trigger slowly. He was quite prepared to shoot off one kneecap and then the other, if Blaney stayed silent. The woman, after all, was nothing. But not to Blaney.

  “He is below,” said Blaney, instantly, before Karen registered the danger she was in.

  “See,” said Redmond, “t’was easy!” A sound below alerted him and he turned to the stairs. A man emerged onto the main deck from a door in the port hull. He recognised Bosun Briggs, one of the men who administered his flogging on the Marlin.

  “Is all well?” called Briggs, shielding his eyes and blinking in the strong sunlight.

  Redmond aimed and fired. The bullet hit the bosun high in the chest, a good shot, thought Redmond, given the angle and the movement of the ship. Briggs crashed back against the bulkhead, a surprised look on his face, slid to the deck and was still.

  “You!” Redmond barked at Karen. “Go and fetch Cross and t’others to that deck. An’ don’t try nothin’. We knows how many’s aboard,” he lied. She was frozen. “Do it!” he yelled and she found her feet and hurried down the stairs, terrified.

  He turned to Hand and Lockwood. “Follow her an’ hold ’em on the deck when they come up. I’m stayin’ ’ere.”

  Off they went, while Redmond guarded the two men. Kite had his back to the convict, though Redmond could see he was tense from the way he stood. Blaney still lay on the floor, blood dripping from his chin to stain his white shirt. The defiant look remained in his eyes. “You’ll not get far, you filthy swine,” he said, climbing painfully to his feet.

  Redmond’s hackles rose. Men like Blaney were responsible for all of Redmond’s troubles. Arrogant men who the law left alone. Men who could ruin another man’s life w
ith impunity. He stepped up to the groggy Blaney and kneed him savagely in the stomach. Blaney staggered forward and Redmond punched him hard on the side of the head with his free hand. Blaney crashed to the deck next to Kite’s feet. Redmond stepped back, annoyed that he had allowed his temper to get the better of him.

  Kite went to help the senior Lieutenant. “It is easy to be brave with a gun in your hand,” he said.

  “Aye,” said Redmond, back in control, “true enough. But I’s here to kill, not t’ be brave. Shut up and get behind that wheel ’fore you gets the same.”

  Kite did so, but not before he checked that Blaney was still breathing. The older Lieutenant was struggling to a sitting position, obviously in a great deal of pain from the blows. But his eyes, Redmond saw, were still defiant. To give him his due, Blaney was a formidable man. But not as formidable as me, thought Redmond, returning the look.

  Redmond backed up to the wheel deck rail and saw that crewmen were emerging on deck. Hand leaned on the starboard rail and Lockwood covered the men from the foot of the wheel deck stairs. Both convicts were comfortable with their guns trained on the growing number of men emerging from below. The crew were hostile and angry, yet no one wanted to suffer the same fate as Briggs, whose body had been left to lie on the deck.

  William Cross was the last man to appear, helped through the door by Karen. Still watching Blaney and Kite, Redmond could not get a clear look at him. “Bring him here!” he yelled.

  They took an age to come up the stairs while Redmond stifled his impatience. Karen ran to Blaney, who was now sitting upright, his left eye badly swollen. Cross shuffled in front of them and faced Redmond. The convict was shocked by his appearance. Gone was the confident, arrogant bastard who had betrayed him. He was replaced by an ill, ancient, pathetic old man with hollow cheeks and stretched, grey skin. Even those once-bright eyes were gone. In their place were sunken, dull orbs that seemed to view the world through a watery layer of dust.

  The moment of revenge had arrived, yet Redmond felt cheated. He had dreamt the Captain would be cringing at his feet, begging for mercy. This was fantasy, he knew, but there was not even a hint of fear from Cross. Shooting him would be doing him a favour.

  But Redmond would not be denied his triumph. He stepped closer to Cross, happy that all eyes aboard would witness his revenge. “I promised you my time would come, Captain. I was goin’ ter knock yer about a bit first, but it looks like a gust o’ wind might finish you off just as easy.”

  Cross drew himself up, becoming more like the man he had been. The transformation cheered Redmond. They were more even, despite the gun in his hand. “Do your worst,” said Cross, “I am ready.” A look of contempt crossed his face, making Redmond’s task easier.

  “Say good afternoon to the devil for me.” Redmond levelled the pistol, remembering how his life had been ruined by this man. He remembered Mary and the child he might have known. The life he would have had. He could not go back now, even after his escape. He could never settle anywhere ever again. Everything was lost because of this one man. Yet he knew, once Cross was gone, there would be nothing left to block out the emptiness inside. Revenge gave him purpose. Part of him would die with the Captain and he would have to learn new ways.

  All these thoughts were not enough to save Cross, Redmond decided. He had come too far to change his mind. This was the moment of truth. William Cross deserved to die. He looked the Captain in the eye as he squeezed the trigger.

  RIDGLEY

  “I’m not playing fucking games, Ridgley! I want a patrol boat sent out now!”

  Commander Graham Ridgley was unmoved by the Premier’s plea. There were perfectly adequate channels for this kind of incident and it was not his job to take direct orders from a politician. A state politician at that! “And I have explained I need authorisation from Canberra.”

  Civilians! thought Ridgley. They didn’t have a fucking clue. He had followed the drama all day on the radio and co-ordinated the harbour rescue fleet. But escaped prisoners were a civil matter, not navy business. The police had made a complete mess of things and they should clean it up.

  “What if the fucking harbour was under fucking attack? What the fuck would you do then?” Premier Harper was raving by now, much to Ridgley’s amusement.

  “If that was the case, we would tell you what was happening.”

  Desperate, the Premier continued. “You stupid fucking bastard! If those prisoners get away, you’re fucking going down!”

  That was enough for Ridgley. “Listen to me. I’m not answerable to your jumped-up local council. If you want the navy to pull you out of the shit, then go through the correct channels.” He switched off the phone satisfied. There were procedures in place for emergencies. If everyone went off uncoordinated there would be chaos.

  Ridgley had already alerted a patrol boat, but he was not prepared to let the Premier bully him. The order was not his to give.

  Ridgley had noticed the Newshound pass by Garden Island only a few moments earlier and wondered what was happening aboard. He did not have the Premier’s sense of urgency because he knew the patrol boat would catch the cruiser in no time. He sat back and turned up the radio. News of the cruiser was just beginning to break, though most of the news was just a rehash of the day’s events. The afternoon should develop nicely, he thought.

  After a few moments, the intercom buzzer sounded. “Canberra on the line, sir,” said his assistant.

  “Put them through,” said Ridgley. He suddenly felt excited.

  WATKINS

  Doctor James Watkins woke to find himself being bounced uncomfortably on the bottom of the small boat attached to the stern of the Newshound. Didn’t he have enough damned bruises? A gunshot had interrupted his sleep, but he did not know if it were real or a dream. He squinted in the bright sunlight, feeling the skin burn on his face. Something was happening on the ship, but he could hear nothing over the rush of water and the terrifying din of two infernal flying objects following high above each side of the vessel. Watkins saw men leaning out of each object holding small canons on their shoulders. He was alarmed at the sight, but after a few seconds they showed no sign of firing their weapons.

  Staying low in the boat, the surgeon looked up at the stern of the Newshound. Men were crowding the port side of the aft deck, while on the stern rail on the starboard side, the convict Hand was pointing a gun at them. My God, he thought, Redmond has won!

  Watkins lay back in the boat and thought rapidly. What would Redmond do with all the men? What would I do in his place? I wouldn’t want all those men aboard, he decided. So, how to get rid of them? Kill them? No, Watkins thought, the convicts would be overpowered while reloading their guns. Force them over the side? He did not think so. Men who could not swim might sacrifice themselves rather than go into the water, inciting a rebellion that could, once again, overpower the convicts.

  The only obvious solution, then, was to put the men ashore safely, possibly at some deserted jetty or beach. Yes, that made most sense to the surgeon. In which case, he had better get aboard the vessel as quickly as possible to be included in the exodus. If he were found afterwards in the tiny boat, Redmond would not waste time in killing him. Once ashore he was confident a larger deputation would have far better luck in gaining an audience with the Governor.

  Watkins scrambled to the bow of his boat and pulled on the rope attached to the Newshound’s stern platform. His muscles ached like hell, but he preferred aches to death, so he pulled harder. A glance to the ship showed that Hand was too intent on watching the crew to notice the surgeon’s progress. This was good, for Watkins did not wish to surprise a stupid man holding a gun. Far better to make his way aboard as unobtrusively as possible.

  Reaching the horizontal metal platform jutting from the ship, Watkins wondered what to do next. His boat was bouncing alarmingly and it would be easy for him to slip between it and the platform to his death. After all he had experienced today, the surgeon would be extreme in his caution.
He reached over the bow and gripped the rear metal bar of the platform. He pulled the boat parallel to the platform. The force of the water was tremendous and it took an herculean effort to get the boat where he wanted it. Rearranging his grip, he took a deep breath and launched himself onto the platform. To his intense relief he clambered safely onto the platform and rolled to the stern of the Newshound.

  Watkins lay still for a moment, relieved when he realised nothing had changed. The objects still buzzed overhead, their cannons pointing at him and the men on the deck above seemed oblivious to his presence. Now what? he wondered. The best thing was to stand beneath the group of crewmen and get them to haul him aboard. Then if Hand saw him, it would hardly cause great alarm. He would merely be ordered to stand with the others.

  He stood carefully. The platform was not sturdy and tended to rattle and jerk each time the vessel passed over a wave, which was now quite frequently. Watkins was careful as there was nothing to hold on to, apart from the ladder, which was too close to the convict. He could have reached up and gripped the stern rail, but that would surely alert Hand and put his life in jeopardy. Instead, he hoisted himself up and braced his back against the hull, hoping to slide along to the men.

  If Watkins had learnt anything during the day, he would have been able to accurately forecast the precise moment the Newshound hit the large wave. It was the instant his fingers let go of the platform. It surged beneath his feet and the surgeon lost all sense of balance. His arms swung wildly and he staggered toward the water. Following waves erupted under the platform and threw him back, giving him faint hope of reaching the stern rail. He launched himself and another wave lurched the platform up against his feet, propelling him higher than the rail. At this point Watkins did not care. He grabbed the first thing his hands came in contact with. To his great surprise this was the arm of Silas Hand. The surgeon and the convict looked into each other’s eyes in identical shock.