The stunned silence was shattered by a loud gasp as the arm rose slowly from the young man’s side, bunched into a fist and turned over as the fist was released.
“Father!” Marc exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise and excitement, like a child who had discovered some great secret. “Do you see, father!?”
After the great gasp, another voice broke the silence.
“WITCHCRAFT!!” a voice bellowed.
“SORCERY!!” another joined in.
The Courtyard then erupted into angry shouting. Fingers were pointed and swords half-drawn as more than one hundred voices argued and threatened. The Ibelin contingent quickly formed a protective screen, with Clement front and centre, around Jacques, Marc and Radkor, whilst Billy Caudwell quickly assessed the situation.
“Troopers!” Billy said, the order being fed directly though the tiny speakers in their helmets. “Pistols, setting one!”
In an instant, all eight Landing Troopers drew their side-arms and set the pulsar-bolt yield to setting one, the lowest setting available to them. As the mayhem and shouting continued in the Courtyard, Billy glanced over to the Princess, who stared impassively at the commotion. Catching the Princess’s eye, Billy smiled resignedly, shook his head and shrugged as he too drew his side-arm. The Princess, in response, stifled a smile.
Holding the pulsar-pistol his right hand, Billy used his thumb to push the slide control on the left side of the grip all the way forward to operate the ‘low stun’ setting. Looking towards the Troopers, Billy could see that all eight were facing the huge shouting match that was unfolding in the Courtyard. With their pistols behind their backs, the Troopers were ready for action, but not threatening or in an aggressive posture. Patiently, Billy waited for someone to restore some kind of order to the mayhem, comfortable in the knowledge that if trouble should arise, the Troopers could cut down everyone in the Courtyard in less than fifteen seconds.
Amidst the pandemonium, Radkor, still remarkably calm despite the threat of weapons around him, watched as Jacques of Ibelin held his son close to him. With tears glistening in his eyes and his lower lip trembling, Jacques clung onto his newly-healed son as the young man, exhausted from the treatment and the effects of the drugs, hung limply in his powerful arms.
“Praise be to God, praise be to God...” Jacques mumbled over and over again holding his son’s fair-haired head close to his own stubbled cheek, kissing him gently behind the ear.
“SILENCE!!” the great booming voice of Seneshcal Joscelin of Edessa cut across all of the arguments and shouting.
Moments later, the shouting began to subside as final insults were traded.
“I will have silence!!” Joscelin bellowed once again bringing the Courtyard back to order. “I see no witchcraft here,” Joscelin announced. “What say you, my Lord Archbishop?”
“Satan does not send emissaries to restore to us brave young Christian knights with strength and vigour!” the cleric announced after a long delay. “This, is a Godly man; doing the Lord’s work in healing the maimed and those in pain!”
There would be no further argument. Despite the suspicious murmurs, the Courtyard returned to a grudging silence for the Archbishop’s judgement. Quietly, Billy ordered the Troopers to replace their side-arms. Taking out the Dispenser once more, Radkor carefully placed five squares onto Marc’s body. At his left shoulder blade, neck, upper spine, upper left arm and just behind his left collar bone. With the first square of pain killer, he included the neural stimulator drug that would begin to regenerate the lost nerve tissue. The other four squares would deliver controlled dosages of pain relief over the next forty-eight hours to control the pain of the regenerating peripheral nerves. The young man had been lucky, Radkor considered, the main nerve had been partly severed and would regenerate quickly. Had it been completely severed, then the whole procedure would have been far more difficult.
“Marc,” Radkor asked again, “do you want me to remove the scarring?”
“No thank you,” the young man slurred, “the girls like scars,” he mumbled before he passed out in his father’s arms.
A peal of raucous laughter broke out in the Courtyard as Jacques reached out his right hand, taking hold of Radkor’s forearm.
“Thank you for giving me back my son,” Jacques said with real sincerity.
“He hasn’t used those arm muscles in over a year,” Radkor replied, feeling awkward. “They’ll be stiff and uncomfortable for a while, so keep him working on that left arm. Swing the sword, raise the shield, as much movement as possible until he’s back to full strength.”
“It shall be done,” Clement promised. “God bless you,” he added as Radkor turned to return to the Landing Trooper position.
“Physician!” the Princess interrupted his progress. “Approach us,” she commanded.
Looking over to Billy Caudwell, nervously, for guidance, he saw the First Admiral nod and changed direction towards the throne. Where only minutes before, armed men had shouted and bawled for his blood, they now respectfully made way for him. Heads were bowed in respect as they shuffled out of his way until he reached the Archbishop who had quelled the uproar.
“May God bless you my friend and guide you with his wisdom,” the Archbishop said cryptically as he formed the sign of the cross in front of Radkor, knowing just how dangerously ill the King was.
“Thank you, My Lord Archbishop,” Radkor gave a polite shallow bow, “you look a little tired and weary, My Lord, may I?” he produced the Med-Scanner and Dispenser once again.
“Of course.”
Having declared Radkor to be ‘Godly’, he couldn’t very well refuse his ministrations now.
Running the Med-Scanner over the Archbishop’s chest and hands, Radkor made his pronouncement as loudly as he could.
“Your Grace has a slight fever! You have been working too hard and worrying too much about His Majesty, haven’t you!?”
“Is this true?” the startled Princess asked, well aware of the Archbishop’s double-dealing nature, never dreaming that he might have been unduly loyal to the Crown.
“Your Highness, I...” the Archbishop was struck speechless by the implied compliment.
Tapping the Dispenser against the Archbishop’s hand, the square of anti-biotic was immediately absorbed into the skin.
“A tonic for you, Your Grace! And, something to deal with that ‘fever’ you have!” Radkor said with a wink, stressing the word ‘fever’.
“God bless you once again,” the Archbishop replied with a gasp and a relieved and grateful smile.
“Physician!” the Princess called for Radkor’s attention. “Would you also do us the kindness of attending His Majesty?”
Having seen a crippled arm restored to function, Princess Sibylla realised that this very special Physician was the King’s best and only hope right now.
“An honour, Your Highness,” Radkor bowed deeply and was led away to the private Apartments by one of the armed men dressed in the Royal Livery.
“My Lord of Edessa, we believe you bring us a petitioner from a far off land?” the Princess turned her attention to Billy Caudwell.
“Your Highness, may I present Admiral Coudouille,” Joscelin pronounced Billy’s name Code-wee.
Inwardly wincing at the atrocious pronunciation, Billy stepped forward and bowed politely.
“Admiral, we are led to believe that you have been shipwrecked upon our lands?” the Princess asked, carefully avoiding the mention of flying ships after the altercations over young Marc of Ibelin.
“That is true, Your Highness.”
“And, we believe that you bring us gifts and petitions?”
“Yes, if it please Your Highness.” Billy ushered the Landing Troopers forward.
In rapid order, the Landing Troopers brought out the four chests, which they deposited, unopened, in front of the Royal throne.
“If it pleases Your Highness,” Billy said with a dramatic flourish, opening the first chest. “Gold,” he said, which
raised a loud gasp from the Courtyard when they saw the hundreds of gleaming coins.
“Diamonds.” The next chest was flung open.
“Silver.” The Trooper pulled open the chest he had carried.
“And, rubies.” The final chest was flung open.
Astonished at the richness of the gift, Princess Sibylla leaned forward from the throne, her eyes wide with delight. In one huge donation, the Royal Treasury had been massively replenished for years to come.
“This is a most generous gift, Admiral, what boon do you seek from us.”
“Your Highness, we simply seek your permission to stay on your lands whilst we repair our ship and carry on our way.”
“How long will your repairs take, Admiral?”
“We calculate possibly a few months.”
“Where is your ship now?”
“Your Highness, it rests near the Muscigny estate,” Joscelin interrupted.
“Didn’t Lord Robert die quite recently?” Sibylla queried the Seneschal.
“Yes, Highness, he died bravely in battle.”
“Then we must grant you title over Muscigny for your few months with us,” the Princess decreed. “My Lord of Edessa, please make up the documents,”
“Your Highness is most generous,” Billy bowed, wondering what he was going to do with a medieval estate.
“Ah, Physician, what news of our brother?” Sibylla suddenly announced as Radkor returned from the Private Apartments.
With a bow, Radkor leaned in close to the Princess to report. As the next-of-kin, the report was confidential and for her ears only. When Radkor had finished speaking, the Princess smiled broadly, dismissed Radkor and summoned Joscelin. With a bow, Radkor took his leave and joined Billy in front of the throne. Amidst the murmuring in the Courtyard, Joscelin and Sibylla conversed quietly.
“I take it the donation went down well, sir?” Radkor asked.
“They couldn’t get their hands on it fast enough, how’s the King?”
“Advanced leprosy, I gave him the anti-bacterial medication, which should stop the disease in its tracks, but he’s massively disfigured, sir, plus there’s one more thing,” Radkor whispered.
“What?”
“Keep your voice down, sir, but, he’s been poisoned.”
“What!?” Billy hissed, turning himself and the Chief Medical Officer to face the wall, away from prying eyes and ears. “Did you tell them?”
“Yes, sir, I don’t have any choice. But, it was a simple alkaloid poison, probably some plant derivative put in his food, quite easy to counteract…”
“Thankfully, it’s not our concern, but, he will be all right? We don’t need him dropping dead just after you’ve ‘cured’ him.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I’ve given him something to make him sleep, so, he’ll wake up tomorrow with the appetite of three men. I hope they have plenty of food around here.”
“My Lords!” the Seneschal announced. “The King is much improved, the Council is dismissed until tomorrow morning!”
With much grumbling and conversation, the assembly of armed men began to disperse as Joscelin climbed down from the side of the throne and strode determinedly towards Billy’s group.
“Time to get you and your people out of here, Admiral, before too many questions get asked,” Joscelin said with urgency. “Call down your flying ships to the courtyard we were in earlier,”
“Troopers,” Billy ordered, “double time, back to the courtyard,”
Striding out quickly, Billy and Radkor, with the Troopers behind, followed Joscelin out of the Main Courtyard. Making rapid progress, Billy summoned down the stealthed Personnel Carriers that had been circling the City since they had taken off less than thirty minutes before.
“So, what was all that about with the Archbishop?” Billy asked. “He’s never done a day’s work in his life.”
“Our friend the Archbishop has been a bit of a naughty boy, sir,” Radkor smiled enigmatically.
“Why? What was that ‘fever’ you treated him for?”
“He had the early stages of Syphilis, sir.”
For a moment, Billy stopped and laughed at the irony of it. Then, he followed the rapidly advancing Seneschal again, smiling broadly.
Chapter 7
The Star Cruiser Aquarius
Engineering Technician Lurca Sanguvin sat cross-legged in front of the open panel in the deserted Mess Deck. Surrounded by panel covers and the remains of burned out circuit bundles, Lurca leaned back on her hands and sighed heavily. The job of inspecting and repairing the micro-circuitry that allowed the main force-shielding to function was an important one. Lurca knew that she had to be absolutely precise with her repairs as everything depended on the force-shielding to allow them to escape. Without the force-shielding, there could be no repairs to the structural damage of the ship. And, without those major repairs, the Aquarius was going nowhere any time soon.
Steeling herself for yet another round of inspection, Lurca sat forward again and lifted the Micro-Probe. She would have much preferred the Magnification Goggles for the intricate close-up work, but the Medical Officers said that using them too much would damage her optic nerve. So, adjusting the screen for the probes output image, Lurca reached up into the open panel and drew the pencil-like probe along the next line of micro-circuit bundles. In each bundle, hundreds of thousands of filament-like connections carried the power, or the information, to operate one of the millions of tiny functions that made up a force-shielding system. The Officers and Technicians in the War Room may push their buttons and hey-presto something would work, but down in the depths of the ship, it was the Engineers that made it work.
This was the less than glamorous part of working aboard the flagship of the Alliance Fleet, Lurca considered. This was the part where someone, usually Technician Lurca Sanguvin, would be consigned to a cramped, isolated duct or crawlspace to work in the heat and danger of live circuitry. Sometimes, she considered ironically, she even had the luxury of working at a Repair Station where she could neither stand up nor sit down comfortably, but just had to crouch with an aching back and legs to fix something like the hot water warning light in the Officer’s Mess.
Still angered at having been previously assigned the most pointless and mundane jobs aboard the flagship, Lurca felt the sharp sting of a micro-discharge burn her fingertips. Jerking her hand back quickly, she dropped the Micro-Probe and began to shake her hand down to dissipate the pain and the tingling feeling. Cursing herself for losing concentration, Lurca sighed once more and recovered the probe.
“How’s it going, Lurca?” the voice of Mardus Magriennen, the Senior Engineering Officer, interrupted her.
“Making progress, Chief,” Lurca said tiredly, “slow, but steady.”
“Well, that’s about all we can hope for right now,” the Senior Engineer replied sitting down cross-legged next to the young Technician. “What a mess!” he commented looking inside the panel at the wasteland of burned circuitry.
“Yeah, thanks for this one, Chief.”
“Well, don’t let it be said that I was never good to you eh, Lurca?” Magriennen smiled, looking more closely at one section of burned circuitry. “We chose this job especially for you.”
“Gosh, you’re all heart, Chief.”
“I know, the other Tech’s said the same too, how much of this have you got done, Lurca?”
“About a couple of hundred metres, Chief.”
“Any of it salvageable?” Magriennen asked, speculatively lifting one of the burned out bundles.
“Less than two percent, Chief.”
It was a long and time consuming job trying to salvage circuit bundles. With around twenty-thousand filaments per bundle to be checked, the Engineer first had to examine the bundle with the Micro-Probe to ascertain the level of damage sustained. If the damage was too severe, then the whole thirty-centimetre long bundle would have to be replaced. And, with Synthesiser capacity at a premium, the order was to salvage as much as possible. If
the bundle was considered salvageable, the Engineer had to remove the bundle from the board; which might contain hundreds of bundles, and fit it to the Recovery Mechanism. The Recovery Mechanism, known to the Engineers as ‘The Loom’, disassembled the bundles and checked all of the filaments before it stripped out the damaged ones. With the damaged filaments removed, ‘The Loom’ would then lay down replacement filaments and re-assemble the bundle.
“Less than two percent?” Magriennen asked.
Was it going to be easier just to strip out the whole circuit, Magriennen asked himself. Lurca Sanguvin was a steady and reliable worker who was desperately needed on the Main Power circuitry projects. However, if he committed to replacing the whole force-shielding circuit, it would tie up the synthesisers for days, delaying all the other repairs. It was one of those millions of decisions that heads of department had to wrestle with every day.
“Yes, Chief,” Lurca replied handing Magriennen her work schedule where she recorded all of her work activities. “I’m hammering my head against a wall here.”
Like a large number of other Engineers, Lurca trusted Magriennen. He was a hard working but fair minded commanding officer who wouldn’t ask a subordinate to do what he wasn’t prepared to do himself.
“I know you are, Lurca, but it’s not your fault, we’ve just got too much to do and too few people to do it.”
Anyone with any kind of Engineering knowledge and experience had been roped into the Repair Crews. Even the Technicians who serviced the Eagle fighters had been drafted in to help repair the burned out circuitry in the ship.
Under any other circumstance, the Aquarius would have been written-off and a new Star Cruiser commissioned from the huge gas nebula where the Garmaurians had mothballed their battle fleets after their ruinous civil war. That, however, was not an option here. There were no space dock facilities, no specialist repair crews and no huge synthesisers that could manufacture the parts he was going to need for the structural damage. If the Aquarius was going to get off this planet it was going to be on the proverbial wing and a prayer.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 6