The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5)

by William J. Benning

  “Yes there is, we are going to get the First Admiral out from whatever that is! Is that clear WATO!?”

  “Crystal, sir! But until we do, someone has to take command!”

  “What’s happening with that probe!?”

  “Probe was crushed in the gravity, sir.”

  “AARGH!!” Lokkrien bellowed, turning away from the WATO and slamming his fists down on the top of the War Table.

  “What are your orders, sir?” the WATO demanded.

  For a moment, Lokkrien drew a heavy breath and started to think.

  “Very simple. They must have gone somewhere. We search for them! We find them! We get them back!”

  If we’re not already too late, Lokkrien considered.

  Chapter 6

  Planet Geminus - The City of Jerusalem

  Less than twenty minutes after leaving the downed Aquarius, two stealthed Personnel Carriers sailed easily over the high walls of Jerusalem and changed course for the highest point in the city; the Royal Palace.

  Seated next to the pilot in the lead Carrier, Billy Caudwell smiled and turned to give a hearty thumbs-up to Joescelin of Edessa in the well of the vehicle. The anxious and queasy-looking Seneschal smiled grimly and tried not to look over the edge of the Carrier at the drop of nearly three hundred metres to the ground. Joscelin much preferred to focus his attention on one of the chests of coins and jewels that would soon be resting in the Royal Treasury. The contribution from the strange Outlanders would keep the Kingdom running for nearly a decade, and would pay off some of the debt owed to the Knights Templar who ran a thriving money lending business throughout Europe.

  A hearty slap on his chain-mailed leg dragged Joscelin’s attention away from the bounty that lay close to him, and onto the pale face of the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Aquarius. Chief Medical Officer Ullit Radkor was a Cerador. With jet black hair swept back from his pale grey face and the sharp hawk-like nose, Radkor looked every inch a dangerous predator. The instincts of his species were those of natural hunters and killers, which made the Ceradors excellent candidates for the Landing Trooper Brigades. Ullit Radkor, however, had possessed less of the killer instinct of his fellow Ceradors, and had become a healer.

  Smiling weakly to the grinning Medical Officer, Joscelin wondered for the dozenth time if he was doing the right thing bringing the Outlanders to the Royal Palace. Contemplating the chests that would save the Kingdom’s finances, while sitting next to the Physician from a vessel that they claimed flew amongst the stars, Joscelin knew that he really had no choice. The Kingdom was nearly broke and the young King was dying. Joscelin knew that he had nothing to lose, but still it troubled him that he was placing so much faith in these Outlanders.

  Joscelin was broken from his contemplation by the sensation that the Personnel Carrier was dropping. Risking a glance over the edge, he could see that the invisible vehicle was indeed reducing altitude prior to landing in one of the secluded courtyards.

  “Hold on!” Chief Medical Officer Radkor shouted in Joscelin’s ear and looped his arms through the two straps built into the seat behind him.

  Following the example, Joscelin slipped his arms into the two loops before crossing his hands across his chest. Secured by the elbows, Joscelin felt the slight bump as the Carrier landed and the rear ramp dropped down. Around him, his own people were struggling to free themselves from the safety straps. The black-overalled Landing Troopers, experts at the rapid dismount, simply relaxed their arms and stood straight up whilst Joscelin wrestled and fumbled to free his limbs.

  “I’ll help you, My Lord,” Chief Medical Officer Radkor said, his voice carrying over the quiet, but persistent, hum of the anti-gravity generator that held the stealthed Carrier half a metre from the ground.

  Turning to his left, Joscelin saw First Admiral Caudwell vault from the Commander’s Seat next to the pilot, and out onto the stone floored courtyard with a loud crash of his booted feet. The silver–visored Landing Troopers were already moving the treasure chests out of the vehicle, whilst his own men still struggled with the safety straps.

  “There we go, My Lord,” Radkor announced, having freed Joscelin’s arms.

  “Thank you,” Joscelin mumbled politely, his attention still fixed on the chests as he rose from the bench seat. “Come on, you fools!” he chided his own struggling men as he barged past them and out into the courtyard.

  Stepping down from the stealthed Carrier, Joscelin felt the weird sensation of being able to see into the vehicle without seeing the vehicle itself. As he experienced the sensation, the first of his own men stumbled out of the rear ramp, tripping on his sword. With a growl of irritation, Joscelin turned to Billy Caudwell.

  “I must go and announce your arrival to Her Highness,” Joscelin said. “When you have unloaded all of your men, my Sergeant-at-Arms will take you to the Main Courtyard where you may formally present your gifts, providing the idiot doesn’t get you lost in the Palace,” he snarled and stalked off to the Private Apartments.

  “Are you ready Ullit?” Billy asked Radkor, who had emerged from the Carrier and was checking the portable Med-Kit that he had brought with him.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Radkor smiled, closing the top of the pale-blue satchel with the white and red diamond-shaped insignia of the Medical Corps.

  “It’s not every day you get to cure royalty of an incurable disease is it?”

  The loudening hum of the anti-gravity generator announced the departure of the vehicle, whilst a similar sound announced the arrival of the second in the courtyard.

  “By Royal Appointment? You never know, you might end up saluting me.”

  “Don’t hold your breath waiting on that score, Ullit,” Billy laughed.

  With Joscelin’s men still stumbling out of the Carrier, Billy watched the immaculately turned-out Landing Troopers form up. Their black helmets gleaming, and their silvered, reflecting visors down, the Troopers made an impressive and intimidating sight.

  “If you’ll follow me, please, sir,” said one of Joscelin’s men.

  “Lead on, Sergeant.”

  “Sir.” The Sergeant-at-Arms marched nervously away.

  The march to the Main Courtyard was barely one hundred metres; however, the Troopers made enough noise with their marching feet to be heard throughout the entire Palace. Entering the Main Courtyard, Billy saw the simple elegance of marbled floors and tinkling fountains decorated by a myriad of plants. Parrots, with feathers in a rainbow of beautiful colours, flitted from plant to plant, chewing the berries and squabbling amongst themselves. Billy also saw a congregation of around one hundred armed men in chain mail, with swords and surcoats of many colours. Watching them from the corner of his eye, Billy could see hands slowly travelling to the hilts of scabbarded swords.

  “Welcome, friends!” Joscelin announced formally from beside the large empty throne that dominated the Courtyard. “Her Highness, the Princess Sibylla will be delighted to receive you in a few moments,”

  A murmur of alarm and confusion rose up from the men in the Courtyard. Looking round, Billy could see two distinct groups. One group congregated around a man seated to the left and in front of the large throne. This man was a soldier wearing chain mail and a burgundy surcoat with the royal arms of Jerusalem emblazoned on the front. Remembering the history briefing, Billy concluded that this would be the High Constable; responsible for a great deal of the military might of the Kingdom. On the opposite side, priests and monks gathered round a short, well-dressed and overweight man. He was some kind of Bishop or clergyman, Billy concluded, remembering that in this time Church and State were inextricably linked.

  “Sir, may I look at your arm?” Chief Medical Officer Radkor’s voice sounded in the deafening, suspicion-laden silence from behind Billy.

  Turning around, Billy could see Radkor speaking to a young man who held a shield limply in his left arm.

  “And, who would you be, Outlander?” an older man, wearing the same blue surcoat as the young man, stepp
ed forward, threateningly, gripping the pommel of his sword.

  “I am a Physician, sir, and, I believe I can help this young man.”

  “Ullit! This is not why we came here,” Billy said, watching the potentially dangerous situation unfold with a wary eye.

  “Sir, this young man is in great pain, it is my duty to try to help him.”

  Several heads in the Courtyard nodded with agreement and approval.

  “Let him proceed, Jacques,” Joscelin announced from beside the throne. “If the boy is in pain, let him try to ease his suffering,” he added, curious to see this Outlander Physician in action.

  “Please, sir, let me help him,” Radkor said to Jacques.

  “Very well.”

  “What’s your name, sir?” Radkor asked the young man.

  “I’m Marc of Ibelin,” the fair-haired young man replied nervously.

  “How did you hurt that arm?”

  “He saved my life, taking a Saracen blade that was meant for me,” the older man said with a mixture of sadness and pride.

  “Father, I...” Marc protested with embarrassment written on his face.

  “It’s true, he took a Saracen blade that would have struck my head off. Instead it crippled my brave son’s arm.”

  “Take your shirt off, I want to see this wound,” Radkor ordered firmly, but politely.

  “Father?” Marc looked anxiously at Jacques.

  “Go ahead,” Jacques ordered, “Clement, help your brother.”

  The shield was dropped to the ground with a loud clatter as the older brother, Clement, began to help Marc out of his surcoat and chain mail.

  When the wound was finally, and painfully exposed, Radkor saw a deep gash running from the base of Marc’s neck down over his shattered left shoulder blade to the level of his left elbow. Considerable scarring indicated that the wound had been sealed at the time with a red-hot iron to stop the blood flow.

  “Right, Marc, I’m going to examine you with this little machine,” Radkor explained showing Marc and those watching the cylinder-shaped portable Med-Scanner he had brought with him. “It won’t hurt and you won’t feel anything.”

  Sweeping the Med-Scanner over the young man’s back, Radkor assessed the level of damage.

  “By the healing to your shoulder blade, this wound is over a year old.”

  “That is correct,” Jacques confirmed watching the proceedings anxiously.

  “You’re in pain now, Marc?” Radkor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But sometimes the arm tingles all the way down to the fingertips and sometimes it is numb and you can’t move it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you flex your fingers for me? Like this” he demonstrated forming his left hand slowly into a fist and then releasing the fingers again.

  Slowly and painfully, Marc gasped as he managed to bend his fingers slightly and no more.

  “Can you lift your arm, like this, for me?” Radkor straightened his left arm and lifted it to shoulder level in front of him.

  With a grimace of agony, Marc tried to lift his arm, and failed.

  “What about trying to turn it like this?” Radkor turned his hand over and back again.

  “No!” Marc hissed with excruciating pain as he tried to copy the Chief Medical Officer.

  “Right Marc, I’m going to give you something for the pain, plus something in case there is any infection in the bone,” Radkor produced the rectangular hand-held Dispenser from his satchel. “Again, you won’t feel anything, just a tap on your shoulder.”

  With a nod, Marc of Ibelin consented to the medication.

  Setting the selector to the appropriate mark, Radkor tapped the Dispenser onto Marc’s naked shoulder. The Dispenser then delivered a very thin, square sheet of porous material impregnated with the required analgesic and antibiotic onto the bare flesh. Instantly, the sheet was absorbed through the skin and directly into the bloodstream. A few moments later, Marc sighed with relief as the pain killer took effect.

  “Marc, I’m going to have to re-break your shoulder blade and reset it so that I can repair the nerves,” Radkor explained quietly. “It won’t hurt, but you’ll feel uncomfortable…”

  “What is going on here, My Lords?” a female voice broke into the mesmerised silence of Radkor’s ad-hoc treatment session.

  “Your Highness,” dozens of voices acknowledged the unannounced arrival of the Princess Sibylla as they bowed.

  “The Physician is helping young Marc of Ibelin,” Joscelin explained to the young woman who appeared resplendent in a blue gown with gold coronet around her dark brown hair.

  “Is this the Physician you wish my brother to see?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Then proceed,” the Princess replied with a mixture of curiosity and regal disdain.

  With a shallow bow, Radkor returned to the patient. Replacing the Dispenser in his satchel, the Chief Medical Officer drew out another rectangular implement, this time with a conical extension.

  “If you would hold your son’s arm against his body, like so, sir,” Radkor asked Jacques to hold Marc’s arm straight at the elbow and wrist as it pressed against his side.

  Nodding, Marc’s father followed the Physician’s instruction.

  “Clement, I want you to hold his shoulder like so,” Radkor instructed the older brother who gently supported the misshapen shoulder blade in his right hand.

  “Marc, we’re going to begin. If you feel any pain you tell me right away,” Radkor instructed.

  With a nod the fair-haired young man braced himself for what he expected to be painful ordeal. Instead, he felt a warm sensation in his shoulder as Radkor slowly and carefully operated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to refracture the misshapen shoulder blade along the line of the original break. Using the Med-Scanner in his left hand, Radkor monitored the progress of the refracture intently.

  “Any pain, Marc?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Switching the setting on the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel, Radkor shrugged his shoulders to release the tension, licked his lips and focussed his attention on the next phase. The silent, expectant pressure of the Courtyard was starting to effect the Medical Officer.

  “Marc, I’ve re-broken your shoulder, now, I have to clear away the bone growth that has deformed your shoulder, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does you shout out.”

  Again, Marc nodded his assent, and Radkor, using the Med-Scanner to view the fracture site, used the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to clear up the new bone growth that was distorting the shoulder and causing all of the nerve and muscular problems for the young man.

  Slowly, Radkor used the Bone Disintegration setting to scour away the rough new bone growth from the edges of the fractured shoulder blade.

  “I could really use a drink about now,” Clement smiled to Radkor.

  “I’ve got a really good mind to join you,” Radkor replied quietly, not taking his eyes from the Med-Scanner as she swept the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel along the fracture line. “Do you feel anything, Marc?” he asked the patient.

  “Just thirsty.”

  “Well, we’re nearly done. Right, Clement, when I finish with this I want you to hold the shoulder completely still.”

  “Very well.”

  “There we go,” Radkor said quietly as the last fragments of unwanted bone were disintegrated, “there, hold it steady, Clement,” he held the older brother’s hand on the shoulder blade.

  “Marc, we’re going to re-fuse the bone now that we’ve gotten rid of all the excess growth,” Radkor explained quietly. “I’ll give you a little bit more pain medicine just in case,” he added, drawing out the Dispenser once more and dropping another square of analgesic onto Marc’s naked shoulder.

  Replacing the Dispenser in the satchel, Radkor changed the setting on the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel once more. This time, the Bone Fusion setting was selected.

  “Here, Clement, hold this,” Radkor passed the Med-Scanner to the left hand of young man supporting t
he two halves of the fractured shoulder blade in his right. “Hold it like, so,” he indicated, holding the young man’s hand in position over the fracture site, “when I move this instrument, you follow it with that one, do you understand me?” Radkor indicated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right, are you ready Marc?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right, Clement.” Radkor took hold of the base of the shoulder blade, “Take your hand away and hold the instrument where you saw me working before.”

  Gently, Clement removed his hand from the shoulder blade and held up the Med-Scanner to where Radkor had instructed. Carefully, Radkor manipulated the two halves of the facture into position with the faint squelching and scratching sound of bone grinding into place. Then, when he was happy with the alignment, Radkor operated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to fuse the right hand side of the fracture. With a full centimetre of bone fused, Radkor switched over to the left hand side with Clement moving the Med-Scanner perfectly.

  “Excellent,” Radkor pronounced, viewing a perfect fit with the right hand side of the shoulder blade.

  With a few deft strokes of the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel, Radkor fused the left of the fracture and began to move along the shoulder blade to complete the job.

  When the bone was finally fused, Radkor sighed quietly. Taking the Med-Scanner from Clement, he checked his handiwork and pronounced himself pleased with the result. Slipping the Med-Scanner and Ultra-Sonic Scalpel back into the satchel, Radkor took out the Dispenser once again.

  “Just about finished now, Marc,” Radkor announced in the spell-bound silence of the Courtyard. “Thank you, Clement,” Radkor dismissed the older brother, who nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Father, you can release his arm now,” Radkor said to Jacques, “but slide your hand between his arm and his chest to hold him up if needs be.”

  “Very well,” Jacques replied bracing himself against his son to support him.

  “Marc,” Radkor said, “I want you to lift your arm, like so,” Radkor indicated raising his own left arm, elbow bent to shoulder level.

  In the stifling silence of the Courtyard, every pair of eyes watched as Marc of Ibelin slowly, and with great effort, raised his arm as Radkor had instructed.