“Is that it, Technician Thapes?” Lokkrien asked calmly.
“Yes, sir, that is the extent of our data, but we have…” Marilla began to explain anxiously.
“No, Technician,” Lokkrien held up his hand to stop Marilla, “I believe I’ve seen enough, thank you for your time, dismissed,” Lokkrien ordered.
Stopping the projector, Marilla recovered her folio sheets and saluted the Second Admiral before scampering rapidly to the doorway. Passing through the force-shielding, Marilla cursed herself for not having more convincing evidence. Stamping her foot in frustration, she set off, leaden-footed to the Intelligence Offices where she suspected that she would be back monitoring signal traffic in a few more hours. The big chance had come and gone, Marilla thought, and fought back the urge to weep. It was going to be a long walk back to the Intelligence Offices for Marilla Thapes.
And, a very quick return to obscurity.
Chapter 16
Planet Earth
The music was loud in the school assembly hall that now doubled as a dance floor for the evening’s entertainment. The flashing strobe lights in the heavy darkness seemed to accentuate the sweaty faces of the dancers as they writhed and gyrated to what was, according to the cool kids at the school, the popular music of the day. The illicit consumption of alcohol at the local bars and hostelries, the ones that didn’t question how old their patrons were, added to the beaming flushed faces and the enthusiasm of the dancing. But, as was traditional, the segregation of the genders was scrupulously upheld. The young ladies, dressed to look older than they actually were, congregated on one side of the room; whilst the young men, full of bravado and cheap spirits were rigidly corralled by convention on the other.
The bravest of the young men had already made their moves on the prettier of the young women; running the gauntlet of rejection and public humiliation to claim their prize or make a hasty exit with even redder faces. Meanwhile, the more cautious and reserved held firmly to their own stag-groups discussing matters far more important whilst furtively glancing at potential dance partners as they attempted to summon up the courage to make an approach. The less attractive young women, the wallflowers, would smile shyly at their potential beau’s trying to hide their growing desperation, hoping that someone would at least ask them to dance just once.
The more adventurous and amorous pairings were already quietly cloistered in the darkened recesses of the assembly hall, where the flashing lights hardly ever shone. Already, the teachers, who doubled as chaperones for the night; were ferreting out kissing and groping couples and they were being reluctantly dragged, with much protest, back onto the dance floor. The ever-vigilant adults hovered and prowled the margins of the dance floor seeking out the hormonally-charged teenage miscreants in an endeavour to maintain at least a semblance of decorum.
In this furnace-hot atmosphere of sweat, cheap perfume, after shave, alcohol and desperation, a steely-eyed sober yet boiling angry Billy Caudwell slipped un-noticed into the cauldron. Scanning the room quickly, he found the source of his rage standing amongst a group of older friends next to the door to the senior study room.
“Emma, a word,” Billy smiled with wicked insincerity as he gently took hold of the provocatively-dressed young woman’s elbow and jostled her efficiently into the open study room, pushing the door closed behind them.
The loud THUD-THUD-THUD of the heavy drum-beat music was instantly muffled as Emma was firmly ushered into the brightly lit lounge from the darkened, flashing dance floor.
“Billy!” the outraged Emma Wallace protested, “What’s going on here!?” she demanded as she was guided gently to one of the study tables.
“I could ask you exactly the same question,” Billy said with icy calm, “Where were you when I turned up at your door to pick you up?”
In the well-furnished, but deserted study room, Emma suddenly felt the stifling tension in the air generated by the angry Billy sweep over her like tidal wave. Caught unawares, she had not expected to be challenged about ditching Billy without telling him, and going out to the dance with someone else. She had expected Billy, like all of the others she considered to be wimps and mummy’s boys, to simply slink away and whine to his mother and his other little loser friends. In that split-second of surprise, Emma suddenly realised that this particular mummy’s boy was not going to slink away. Deep in the recesses of Emma’s mind, the primal animal knew that this young man was different. He was going to stand up to her until he got the truth. As that realisation dawned in her mind, the germ of an idea was planted that, perhaps, she had made a colossal mistake.
Looking into the grey-blue eyes of the angry young man in front of her, she saw the hurt and the icy anger, but, most unnervingly she saw a hard-edged ruthlessness that she had never seen in him before. Instinctively, she knew that she could never sweet talk and patronise her way out of the situation. She knew that she had to bluster and attack, hoping that he would cave in as all the other men she knew had done when a woman raised her voice in scorn.
“Where was I!? Where was I!?” Emma snapped, “YOU are NOT my father, I don’t have to explain anything to you Billy Caudwell. I’ve got my own life!”
“Spare me the modern, independent woman speech,” Billy cut her short, “It doesn’t justify plain old-fashioned bad manners, dear!”
“I am not your ‘dear’ Billy,” Emma bristled, “I am!”
“If you want respect, DEAR,” Billy emphasised the insult as he cut her off once more, “then you will earn it by showing respect. Now where were you when I turned up at your door and was left feeling like an idiot!?”
For a moment, an astounded Emma bit her tongue, her face reddening with anger at the challenge.
“I decided that I wanted to go to the dance with Micky Stewart, that’s all,” Emma retorted defiantly crossing her arms over her chest, “I am old enough to make my own decisions you know, and I am entitled to change my mind!”
“You came here with Micky Stewart?” an astonished Billy stammered.
For a moment, Billy was taken aback and stood in shocked silence at the realisation that she had not only stood him up, but she had done so in favour of the young man who had attacked his stand-in Jedithram Prust. That realisation stung him like a very hard slap to the face and hardened his resolve.
“Whom I choose to go out with is none of your business Billy Caudwell!” she bristled jutting her chin out with defiance.
For a moment, Billy composed himself from the shock and then pressed on into the attack with renewed vigour.
“You can go out with whomever you like, Miss Wallace, but you do not agree to go out with me and leave me standing looking like a total prat in front of your father at your front door. Is that clear lady?” Billy hissed icily.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m a five-year-old!” Emma bridled pointing her finger at the enraged Billy.
“Well, maybe you should stop behaving like one,” Billy retorted, “and learn some manners while you’re at it!”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my manners. Mister Caudwell!” Emma snarled dangerously.
“No there isn’t; at least nothing that learning some consideration for other people wouldn’t cure!” Billy refused to back down.
“I don’t any advice from jealous, immature little boys!” Emma spat contemptuously taking a new tack in the exchange.
For many years Emma had watched the women in her family control and manipulate their men with scorn and derision. It was a practice almost as old as the human species, and Emma was quickly becoming a skilled practitioner.
“Jealous!?” Billy replied, “Jealous of what?”
“You’re jealous because I chose to come here with Micky, now go away and grow up Caudwell!” Emma barbed.
“What!? Jealous of Micky Mouse!? The biggest lying, cheating rat-bag in the school,” Billy replied shakily; she had hit a raw nerve, “If that’s who you want, good luck to you; but don’t come crying to me when he’s fini
shed with you and ditches you for someone else!”
“Oh really!?” Emma crowed triumphantly realising that she had drawn metaphorical blood, “you hypocrite, Caudwell, pretending to be my friend so you could make a pass at me, you’re just like all the others; after only one thing, at least Micky’s a real man, not like you!” she stung.
“Hypocrite is it!?” Billy rallied; he was far from beaten yet, “it didn’t stop you stringing me along and using me as a buck-shee math tutor. So, I’d be really careful about who you’re calling a hypocrite, Miss Wallace!”
“Why you…” Emma seethed, “I did not string you along…”
“‘Oh, Billy,’” he mocked her wheedling tone of the last night he had helped with her maths in her room, “‘let’s wait until the school dance, then we can start going out properly, OK?’ I think you could safely call that stringing someone along.”
“Look, we were never going out, Billy,” Emma defended weakly, “I’ve changed my mind about you, that’s all. So, I don’t know what you’re whining about.”
“It’s called consideration for other people, Emma Wallace,” Billy attacked again, “something you obviously don’t have, unless, of course, you want something from them. You’re a user, Emma Wallace, a dirty, selfish, arrogant little user; just like Micky Stewart, so you’re well met, the pair of you.”
Turning on his heel, Billy headed towards the door.
“Now, just one minute mister high-and-mighty Caudwell!” Emma burst out.
“No, Emma, we’re done here!” Billy snapped contemptuously turning back to the enraged young woman.
“Hey,” a new voice sounded as the door opened allowing a deafening flood of screeching lyrics and heavy drumbeat to flood the savage tension of the study room.
“What’s going on here?” the newly arrived Micky, heavily made up in his New Romantic outfit, questioned; two glasses of something clear and fizzy splashed in his hands.
“Nothing at all,” Billy replied turning back to the door and finding a group of Micky ’s garishly-dressed, laughing and cavorting, drunken friends blocking the doorway.
“You alright babe, this guy giving you trouble?” Stewart asked the red-faced Emma.
“Nothing I can’t handle; he’s just being a jerk!” Emma barbed.
“Is that right, babe?” Micky asked, stepping into Billy’s path, “You being a jerk, Caudwell?” he asked, setting the two glasses down on one of the study tables nearby.
“Get out of my way, Micky,” Billy said calmly.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Caudwell,” Micky Stewart smiled malevolently, confident of the support of his group of friends behind him, “maybe you should apologise to the lady.”
“Yes, Billy,” Emma smiled, “maybe you should apologise.”
“Pity there aren’t any ladies in here,” Billy met Micky’s sneering gaze.
“Now, Caudwell,” Micky said menacingly, “that’s not a nice thing to say about my new girlfriend is it?” Micky moved close to Billy until the two young men were almost nose to nose.
“Like I said,” Billy replied calmly to Micky’s heavily powdered face, “pity there aren’t any ladies in here.”
From behind Micky Stewart one of his friends let out an involuntary gasp as the tension rose another several degrees.
“I said apologise, Caudwell!” Micky demanded viciously.
“Get knotted, Micky,” Billy replied and stepped aside to pass the obstruction.
“I said apologise!” Micky grabbed Billy’s left arm and pushed him backwards causing Billy to stumble as he narrowly missed a chair.
“And, I said get knotted; now, if you want to make something off it, come on, face-to-face, not from behind like a coward,” Billy challenged after recovering his balance, “otherwise, get out of my way.”
“Careful, Micky,” a male voice spoke from behind Micky.
“You know, I really don’t like you, you little ginger weasel,” Micky said with an insincere smile, “I think that maybe we should teach you some manners, Caudwell.”
Slowly, all four of Micky Stewart’s male friends started to spread out menacingly from the doorway to form a shallow semi-circle in front of Billy. Calmly, Billy scrutinised the four young men. The memories and experiences of Teg Portan quickly registered and categorised the four new potential combatants. All four of them were red-flushed with alcohol and not prepared for a fight. They would all take part enthusiastically in a drunken beat-up if the target wasn’t resisting. But, they had no real motivation to take part in a fight where they could potentially get hurt. The real trouble was going to be Micky, not the hangers-on. So, Billy quickly formed a plan with the realisation that if he hurt Micky badly enough, these others would back off. And, already Billy knew that at least one of these hangers-on knew what he was capable of.
Micky had pushed the dispute beyond a verbal solution. Now, he was planning to settle it on his terms, with his friends behind him. Billy, with all the experience and knowledge of close-quarter combat from the long-dead Garmaurian First Admiral, knew that Micky either had to resort to violence or lose face with those same friends.
“I don’t think I need to learn anything from someone who wears more lipstick than his so-called ‘girlfriend’.” Billy spat the last word contemptuously in an attempt to enrage his opponent.
The tactic of enraging Micky was working, as Billy noticed the momentary flash of anger in his opponent’s eyes. Always watch the eyes, the dead Garmaurian commander’s memory flashed through Billy’s mind. If he’s going to do something stupid, you’ll see it in the eyes first. Billy also knew that an angry opponent was a careless and clumsy opponent. It didn’t matter how much bigger or stronger he was, if he wasn’t focussed, he was vulnerable.
“Oh yeah,” Micky snarled, “well, at least I’ve got a girlfriend, loser!”
“Tell me, Micky,” Billy asked with a deliberate smile, “are you really interested in her, or are you just after her eye-liner?” Billy smiled.
“Oh, very funny, Caudwell,” Micky smiled, “try laughing this one off,” he drew back his hand and bunched a fist.
Here we go, Billy thought as he steeled himself for action. The memories of Teg Portan, the Garmaurian First Admiral, taught him not to panic in a hand to hand combat situation. Stay calm, stay focussed and be ready to respond when a weakness presents itself, the dead Garmaurians lifetime of experience had counselled.
An instant later, the bunched fist was hurtling towards Billy Caudwell’s face. But, with the speed of a striking cobra, Billy lifted his left hand and caught the flying fist in his palm; his fingers closing quickly around it. The force-shielding of Billy’s Personal Environment Suit deflected the thrust of the blow back into Micky’s hand and wrist. The savage impact immediately fractured all four of the bones at the base of Micky’s right hand. To Micky, it felt just like he had just punched a brick wall. The searing, shooting agony of the fractures lanced up into his brain, drawing a yell of pain from the injured assailant.
It took very little effort from Billy to twist and squeeze the damaged hand forcing the shrieking Micky to buckle to his knees in front of his horrified friends.
“You want some too, boys?” Billy glared at the four hangers-on, who now stood frozen as their leader yelped with pain, the tears of anguish beginning to cut a path through the caked on make-up on his cheeks.
“Let him go, you bully, you’re hurting him!” Emma protested and felt the complaint choked off in her throat as she caught sight of Billy’s eyes.
Emma had never known real fear and terror in her young life. But looking into Billy’s hard, ice-cold, grey-blue eyes made her gasp with fright. These were the eyes of a killer. Not the kind, generous and helping eyes of the Billy who had patiently tried to explain those equations to her. Kneeling down, trying to comfort her injured boyfriend, Emma realised that she had made the most horrible mistake.
With no expression on his face, Billy dropped the damaged hand; producing another yelp of agony from Mi
cky who cradled his crushed and broken fingers protectively. Without a backwards glance, Billy walked calmly away from his fallen enemy. Micky’s friends stared anxiously at the victor of the short and brutal fight as he approached, and slowly and silently made way for him. Passing through their frightened make-shift line, Billy walked to the door, disappearing back into the loud banging and flashing maelstrom of the school dance.
Cradling her injured and agonised boyfriend, Emma watched Billy step through the line of Micky’s friends. As he walked to the door, Emma felt the hatred and fear of him well up inside her. That hatred was for someone who had ruthlessly exposed her failings, her dishonesty, and her contempt for other human beings. She had expected him to simply skulk away in a huff and never speak to her again like all the other losers she had used and abused. But, this young man had forced her to look at her own reflection and her own misdeeds. He had told her the truth about herself, and she hated him for that, almost as much as she hated herself for having been found out.
As he slipped back to the school dance, a new feeling welled up inside Emma Wallace. It was something she had never expected to feel about Billy Caudwell.
It was a feeling of grudging respect.
Chapter 17
The Star-Cruiser Aquarius
“Ambassador Zhannell, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” Billy Caudwell welcomed the Ambassador to Bardan into his Quarters with an outstretched hand.
“First Admiral? Erm, the pleasure is all mine,” Diadran Zhannell took the offered hand, slightly surprised by the warmth and sincerity of the greeting.
“Please, take a seat,” Billy smiled indicating the chair in front of the curved ‘S’ shaped couch that was firmly jammed against the large viewing window, “something to drink, perhaps?”
First Admiral 02 The Burning Sun Page 10