“Oh, no…no thank you, First Admiral,” Diadran held up her hand in refusal as she sat down on the offered chair.
For a moment, Diadran stared in wonderment at just how Spartan and un-cluttered the Private Quarters of the Supreme Military Commander of the Universal Alliance actually were. In the dim light of the room, Diadran could see a small work-desk and chair beneath a bright light, a simple standard-issue storage locker, two chairs, the ‘S’ shaped couch and a matching table. The immediate impressions on Diadran were that either this was someone who shunned shows of ostentation or it was someone who preferred to live away from the flagship Aquarius.
“Well, I see you’ve escaped from the lion’s den unscathed,” Billy entered what he called ‘Diplomatic Mode’.
As Supreme Military Commander, Billy was having to rapidly learn and cultivate the social skills required of a politician and a diplomat. It was not a task he took to readily; however, the quest to forge his Universal Alliance was a strong and powerful motivation.
“Yes, First Admiral, life can be, shall we say, ‘interesting’ on Bardan,” Diadran smiled starting to feel very at ease in Billy’s company.
“I can well imagine,” Billy smiled taking his seat on the couch behind the table, “Is our friend Lullina still as eccentric as ever?”
“Oh yes, very much so,” Diadran had to agree; “she is a very dangerous creature and should have a ‘handle with care’ sign round her neck.”
“Oh, I can well believe it,” Billy laughed politely, “I have several Second and Third Admirals who might benefit from the same,” he quipped.
“It seems we all have those same problems,” Diadran smiled.
“So,” Billy brought the conversation round to the business of the day, “what is our friend Lullina up to?” he asked.
“Well, First Admiral,” Diadran sat forward in her seat, “I had quite an enlightening little conversation with Her Imperial Majesty a few days ago.”
“So, she’s stopped ignoring you?” Billy asked.
“Indeed,” Diadran commented, “and in this little conversation she seemed to be putting out hints of a possible peace,” she let the implications sink into the mind of the Supreme Military Commander.
“Why should Empress Lullina suddenly be interested in peace with the Universal Alliance?” Billy asked the million-pound question.
“That, First Admiral, is a question that has taxed my wits also,” Diadran replied, “but, the hints were being dropped and couched in the appropriate language of a possible peace offer.”
“Hmm,” Billy mused for a few moments, leaning back on the couch, “the political situation on Bardan is stable,” Billy said remembering the most recent briefing from Karap Sownus.
“There is no sign of any rebellious activity within the Empire,” Diadran added.
“And, there seems to be no significant military activity on either the Ganthoran or Horvan frontiers. So, the question is still why does she need peace with the Alliance?” Billy mused.
“I know it might sound stupid, but, perhaps, just perhaps, the Bardomil are starting to accept the idea of the Alliance’s existence and are looking to start trading with us?” Diadran speculated.
“It’s a possibility; but, I don’t think it’s very likely,” Billy replied, “the Thexxian issue has still to be considered.”
The enmity between the Bardomil and the Thexxians was still too deep-seated; that combined with the military defeat the Bardomil had suffered at Billy’s hands made a serious peace offer an unlikely prospect in the First Admiral’s mind.
“We could certainly use some stability on at least one of our frontiers.” Diadran suggested.
“That’s very true,” Billy replied.
The Alliance Fleet was already badly overstretched trying to protect frontiers against the major Imperial powers of both the Ganthorans and the Bardomil. The Alliance needed time to integrate a host of new species and to train their military in the use of the advanced Garmaurian technology that was the bedrock of the Fleet. Some degree of peace and stability would be a God-send, but Billy suspected that the price might be a bit too rich for his blood.
“So, we at least have to explore the possibility?” Diadran asked.
“I’m not rejecting it completely,” Billy replied, “just keep it as an exploration at this stage.”
“That sounds fair enough, First Admiral, we commit ourselves to nothing and see how the hand plays out,” Diadran sought clarification.
“Yes, I’m sorry; I simply don’t trust Lullina,” Billy shrugged.
“Understood, loud and clear,” Diadran smiled delighted that she at least had won the chance to explore a potential peace scenario.
“Good,” Billy replied standing up, “now, if you’d care to join me for dinner, Ambassador; my Senior Staff Officers are quite eager to meet someone who has spoken to the Bardomil Empress,” Billy smiled.
“But, of course, First Admiral, I’d be delighted. I do enjoy the company of men in uniform,” she smiled cheekily.
“And, I do believe that Admiral Schremmell proposes to sing a Hubbart love ballad in your honour,” Billy explained.
Half rising to her feet, Diadran sat down once again. The thought of a low, droning Hubbart love ballad made her mind recoil in horror at the prospect of having to smile fixedly through the ordeal.
“You know, First Admiral,” she smiled weakly, “I think I might just take that drink you offered me earlier.”
“What would you like Ambassador?” Billy asked stepping over to the Synthesiser unit built into the wall next to the couch.
“Hubbart Brandy,” Diadran said anxiously steeling herself for the approaching trial.
“A large one, please,” she added with a shudder.
Chapter 18
Planet Earth
“Look, Micky, stop it!” Emma Wallace protested pushing Micky Stewart’s uninjured hand away from the hem of her fashionably-short skirt.
In the weeks since the school dance, it had been more a point of pride and principle for Emma to continue the relationship with Micky than through any particular attraction. Micky was a Monitor at school, he had a car, and the other girls were bitterly jealous of her for having Micky as a boyfriend. And, having totally alienated Billy Caudwell, she certainly wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of saying ‘I-told-you-so’.
“Come on, Ems, don’t be shy,” Micky smiled kissing Emma’s neck once more and sliding his left hand down over her buttocks towards the skirt hem once more.
“No Micky!” Emma protested again, pushing Micky fully away from her, onto the ground, “I don’t want to!”
Angrily, Emma fastened the two open buttons of her blouse and sat up on the sofa before trying to locate her discarded shoes.
“What’s the matter now, Ems?” Micky asked concernedly picking up his discarded sweatshirt from the coffee table in front of the sofa.
“I just…I just…just don’t want to, that’s all,” she flustered finding one of her pink high-heeled shoes beneath the coffee table.
“OKAY, Ems, what’s going on here?” Micky sighed resignedly sitting down on one of the armchairs that stood at right angles to the coffee table.
For the first time in over a fortnight, Micky’s parents had gone out for the evening, leaving him alone in the house. And, Micky had planned to make the best of the situation. Now, once again, his partner had developed a case of cold feet when it came to physical intimacy.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s going on here’?” Emma bristled.
“Just what I said,” Micky replied, “you come over here dressed to the nines, a little bit of smooching, getting me all wound up, and suddenly you’re all cold and giving me ‘I don’t want to’. So, what’s the story, Ems?”
For a moment, Emma was silent as she racked her brains for a response and realised that she was totally out of her depth here.
“That’s all you men ever think about isn’t it!?” she snapped, gambling that the best form
of defence was attack.
“And, whadda ya want me to think of, Ems!?” Micky yelled in response, “You’re a beautiful girl, giving me all the green light signals. Did you think I wanted you to come over tonight to play Scrabble!?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t come over here for you to try to rape me!!” Emma snapped, resorting to her last line of defence.
“Oh, I tried to rape you with a broken hand? Grow up, you stupid, immature little brat!” Micky replied angrily.
“Oh, ‘stupid, immature brat’, so that’s it, is it, Micky?” Emma snarled standing up, driving her foot angrily into her other shoe, “different story when you’re trying to get into my blouse, eh?”
“Hey, no one forced you, Ems!” Micky stood up pointing to Emma accusingly.
“God knows what I ever saw in you Micky Stewart!?” Emma snapped, lifting her jacket from the armchair opposite to Micky’s.
“Well, an older boyfriend, someone with a car, to take you out drinking and dancing, with a bit of teasing practice for good measure, eh, Ems?” Micky barbed.
“Will you stop calling me that!?” Emma yelled.
“What? ‘Ems’ or ‘tease’!?” Micky pressed home the advantage.
Stunned to silence once more, Emma jammed on her jacket and stomped over to the hallway to retrieve her bag.
“I’ll just have to tell all the girls at school what you’re like,” Emma tried a new line of attack, “you’re an animal, a sex maniac!”
“Oh, please do,” Micky smiled, “the girlies like a bad boy,” he followed her to the hallway, “they’ll be queuing up outside my door,” he added indicating the red painted doorway.
“No they won’t,” Emma replied huffily, “you think you’re the best thing since sliced bread, Micky Stewart, but, let me tell you something; you’re not,”
“Well, let’s face it, I can do better for myself than a spoilt, immature little tease like you,” Micky smiled sensing he was winning the argument, “I only went with you to annoy that loser Caudwell; otherwise, I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot bargepole.”
“Why you!!” Emma snarled, losing all reason, and aimed a vicious slap at Micky’s face.
“Temper, temper, Princess!” Micky replied catching the flying right hand with his uninjured left, “yeah, the poor sap really fancied you, maybe you can go back to him and he’ll take you on as second-hand goods!”
“You…!” Emma snarled angrily and tried to slap Micky again.
But, even all the strength in her right arm was not enough to overcome Micky’s left.
“Oh yes Ems, you’ve got a bit of a reputation as a tease, so go ahead, do your worst; no one will ever believe you, Emma-No-Mates,” Micky barbed.
“They’ll believe me when I tell them that you tried to rape me!” Emma snapped icily, determined to get the last word in.
Unfortunately, for Emma, it was a taunt too far.
The triumphant smile vanished from Micky’s face faster than snow on a hot day. The look of anger and outrage that replaced it made Emma realise that she had stepped over the line. But, it was too late.
The pressure around Emma’s right wrist loosened for just a fraction of a second before a heavy open-handed slap connected on her head above her right ear. With a yelp, Emma stumbled backwards, losing her balance, before another heavy back-handed slap connected with the left side of her head. Reeling from the two savage and painful blows Emma was pushed against the brightly decorated hallway wall. Trying to recover her balance, Emma felt a tight constricting band clamp around her throat partly blocking her windpipe.
Gasping from the two blows and now struggling to breathe Emma was able to look up and see the hate-twisted face of Micky Stewart pushed up close to hers, and realised that he had his left hand fixed tightly round her throat.
“You go right ahead, Ems,” the twisted face hissed chillingly, his dark brown eyes as empty and hollow as Billy Caudwell’s had been in the Study Room, “Tell everyone how I tried to rape you, the little teaser, the manipulator, the liar, after you got all tarted-up like a dog’s dinner and went round to be alone with your boyfriend who was in pain with the broken hand,” Micky held up his bandaged right hand, “and when they’ve finished laughing at you, Ems, if they don’t lock you up, I’ll come looking for you,” Micky threatened with deathly calm.
Struggling for breath, Emma Wallace knew that this was no idle threat. She had seen murder in the eyes of Micky Stewart and felt the terror of that realisation seep into every nerve and fibre of her body.
“Look, Micky I’m sorry, I was just kidding,” Emma gasped, her face reddening with congestion.
“No, Ems, you don’t joke about things like that,” Micky hissed viciously.
Calmly, Micky Stewart released his grip on the terrified Emma’s throat. And, finally able to breathe once more, Emma slowly slid down to the floor, shivering with fear and shock. Still gasping, and too terrified to scream, Emma felt the heavy impact of her bag hitting her, causing her to raise her hands and arms protectively.
“There’s your bag!” Micky snapped.
A moment later, Emma felt the smothering blanket of her overcoat being thrown over her as she tried to struggle to her feet. For a split-second, she panicked fearing some further attack, or worse. She simply wanted to escape and get as far away from the house as possible; so she started to scramble towards the blocked doorway.
“There’s your coat!” the malevolent voice hissed as the front door was flung open next to her.
Grabbing her bag and coat, Emma tried to crawl to the open doorway to the perceived safety of the dark chilled street, when she felt a heavy impact on her posterior. The blow from Micky’s foot propelled her out into the night, where she landed on her face, half in and half out of the door. Another well aimed kick shoved her fully out of the doorway and onto the concrete paving slabs, where she landed heavily.
“Don’t ever show your face around me again, Wallace!” Micky snarled and slammed the wooden door shut.
In the darkness of the driveway, still shaking with terror and relief, Emma Wallace struggled slowly to her feet. With tears running down her face, Emma tried, unsuccessfully, to slide her arms into the sleeves of her overcoat. She found that she was unable to keep her hand steady long enough to thread it into the narrow sleeve opening, and gave up trying. Wrapping her overcoat around her arm and bag, Emma Wallace stumbled out into the night.
“Oh God, Billy, what have I done?” she mumbled to herself and sobbed quietly in the darkness.
Chapter 19
The Bardomil Imperial Fighter Carrier Taurai
General Grattus Darrien sat uneasily in the chair at the large Conference Table. The ‘invitation’, bearing the Imperial Crest, which had summoned him to this little gathering, was one that Grattus knew he could not ignore. And, what a gathering it was turning out to be, the commander of the Bardomil Twenty-Sixth Rogandus Imperial Fleet considered as he scrutinised the other five generals around the table.
Two of them were immediately recognisable as Methrien and Glabbrus; two of the worst sadists ever to put on an Imperial uniform. A third, named Terfall he knew only by sight, whilst the other two were unknowns to Grattus. Six Fleet commanders being summoned to the Empress’ flagship could only mean one thing, Grattus speculated, and that was a major military campaign. The where, when and against whom, Grattus considered, was something that they were all just about to find out.
Eying each other warily, the Generals said nothing as they waited in the heavy oppressive atmosphere of the Conference Room for someone to tell them what was going on. The dull drone of the heavy electro-magnetic generators that drove the Taurai supplied the already crippling tension in the room with a nerve-shredding constant. Looking cautiously at the other Generals, Grattus could see that they were scrutinising him too. Not that he would consider any of them friends. The Empress took great delight in playing her Generals off one another. It was a successful strategy that kept her Fleet commanders plotting
and scheming against each other rather than her. Unfortunately, in the mind of Grattus Darrien, the time spent in ‘politicking’ was time that could be far better spent preparing the Rogandus Fleet for battle. But, that was the hard reality of the Bardomil military, Grattus understood. Covering one’s own back was just as important a skill as actually being able to soldier and defeat the enemies of the Empire.
Sitting back on the seat, a wary eye clamped on his rivals, Grattus sighed. But, no sooner had the breath passed his lips than the Conference Room door burst open. Instinctively, Grattus leapt to his feet in the expectation of the Empress herself sweeping majestically into the room. Instead a squad of eight black-clad Imperial Bodyguards marched purposefully through the doorway and took up strategic positions against the Conference Room wall. The other startled Generals also leapt to their feet whilst Grattus reached for the blaster-pistol at his right hip. Feeling the empty holster, Grattus realised that he had been compelled to surrender the weapon when coming aboard the Taurai. Only Imperial Bodyguards were allowed to carry arms on the Empress’ flagship.
The other Generals fearing, as Grattus did, an immediate execution began to remonstrate and complain. It was not unknown for the Empress to gather up those who had displeased her and allow the Imperial Bodyguard a spot of live target practice. But, as the black-clad guards took their stations, Grattus recognised one of the two figures who swept in behind the security squad.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Captain Sudrus stepped smartly to the lectern at the head of the large Conference Table, “if you would please take your seats,” he instructed.
Still stunned, and slightly relieved not to be in the midst of a fusillade of blaster-bolts, the Generals nervously re-took their seats. Staying silent, Grattus waited for what was about to enfold.
“Gentlemen you have been summoned by the Empress to take part in the most glorious campaign in the history of the Bardomil Empire,” Sudrus began.
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