The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  Movement from behind made Ning turn. An elderly male, roughly held between two guards, was dragged into the cavern, his face calm, his eyes cast to the ground.

  “I found this one, Capin’,” the guard said. “No identity disk, but we’ve recorded his mark.”

  The guard forced the right sleeve back from his prisoner’s forearm, showing a faded laser tag burned into his flesh. “We’re running it through the system now, Sir.”

  “Very good, Corporal,” Haynes said. “Any others?”

  “Dunno, Sir, the rest of the squad are checking the place out. But Capin’, there’s only women, kids and oldies here by the look of it.”

  “Then look harder,” Haynes shouted.

  The guard blanched, as much as a Cimmerian could, and ran back into the cavern.

  Corinne walked over to the old Cimmerian, with Ning following.

  “Are you all right, Paul?” she asked.

  “I’ve been through this before, Doctor Doucet.” His world-weary tone said volumes as to his acceptance of an unjust status quo.

  The guard grabbed Corinne by the shoulder, hard enough to make her cry out, and threw her to the floor. Ning, forgetting all of the cross-cultural training, landed a right cross on the guard’s chin. Grimacing, he held his throbbing hand. The guard grinned while leveling a pulsar rifle at him.

  Carpov came from nowhere, twisted the rifle from the guard’s hands and hit him in the throat with a powerfully aimed elbow. The guard staggered back as the rifle clattered to the ground. A pulsar blast hit Carpov in the back, throwing her limp body to the floor. Haynes stared along the barrel of his sidearm, pointing the weapon at Corinne.

  Whitney swung an arm around Haynes’ neck and wrestled for his sidearm with the other.

  Haynes shrugged him off as if tossing back his cape. Ritchie rushed at the Cimmerian, only to be brushed aside by a huge backhand. Whitney charged again, ducked under the backhand and drove his fist into the Cimmerian’s stomach. Haynes doubled up, air exploding from his lungs. Whitney drove three good hits into his face, then wrung his fist. The guard captain threw a side kick, striking Whitney in the chest. He disappeared over the edge of the landing dock.

  Forcing air back into his lungs, Haynes turned to the doctors.

  “This outrage will not pass,” he screamed. “Attacking members of the King’s Guard is a capital offense. And you will pay.” He swung his weapon onto Corinne.

  “So will you, you crazy fucking ape,” Ning shouted back. “By the time I’ve finished reporting, not only your disgraceful actions, but what is really happening on this planet, the League will leave you animals to fight among yourselves.”

  “Animals!” Haynes screamed. “We stand erect and you dare to call us animals?”

  “If the shoe fits.” Haynes’ sidearm shifted from Corinne to the center of Ning’s chest. He took a sharp breath.

  A silver blade touched Haynes’ throat from behind. His eyes widened.

  “Try shaking me off and I’ll cut your throat.” Telford’s words were so quietly spoken, Ning just made them out. “Do you understand me, Captain?”

  “Who are you?” Haynes said between set teeth.

  “Just another peace-loving sentient being.” He tapped the blade against the captain’s neck. “Hand me your weapon, Captain, and we can discuss matters like civilized beings. After all, you stand erect, do you not?”

  Ning heard the click as Haynes changed the setting on his sidearm.

  “I can kill the doctor before you kill me.”

  Telford chuckled. “Still the same outcome for you.” Telford drew blood from the captain’s neck. When Haynes nodded, he took the offered weapon.

  Stepping away from the huge Cimmerian, Telford glanced at the sidearm and raised his eyebrows.

  “Focused beam setting, Captain?” He shook his head while making tish-tish sounds. “That’s a bit unsporting against unarmed non-combatants.”

  Ning heard the same distinctive click as Telford switched the setting back to stun. Keeping the weapon trained on Haynes, Telford knelt and slid his knife into a sheath strapped to his ankle.

  “Are you going to kill me now, outlander?”

  “No, Captain,” Telford said. “We also stand erect. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. My associates and I are going to leave here now, and you will put this unfortunate matter behind you.”

  Haynes raised his chin but did not respond.

  “Doctor, I think we’ve worn out our welcome. Check on our injured and let’s get going.”

  Ning could not help but stare at the young officer. The man’s self-confidence verged on—

  Telford swung on his heel and fired his weapon from the hip. A guard went down. “I think now would be a good time.”

  Ning helped Corinne to her feet and began moving.

  Telford fired twice and two more guards dropped to the ground.

  Haynes was much faster than his size implied. Telford began to turn back toward him. Two giant arms pinned his arms to his sides. He grimaced as the Cimmerian’s arms tightened around him. The sidearm dropped from Telford’s hand.

  “I’ll grind your bones to make my bread,” Haynes hissed into his ear.

  The veins stood out on Telford’s neck as his face reddened. He kicked back three times with the heel of his left foot. One of them struck a sensitive part. Haynes groaned, staggered back and dropped the human.

  Telford made a grab for the fallen sidearm. An energy pulse struck him in the chest, flinging him to the ground.

  “Now, you will pay for this outrage,” Haynes said, with glistening eyes and set teeth.

  CHAPTER 37

  Date: 22nd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Insolent, in holding pattern, high Cimmerian orbit.

  Status: Alert Condition Two.

  “Captain, message coming in from Ambassador Trumper,” Reiffel said. “It’s coded for command officer, eyes only, Sir.”

  Bradman rubbed his face. What else could go wrong today. First the landing party goes missing and now this.

  He eased himself from the captain’s chair. “I’ll take it in the briefing room, Antonia. Continue with departure preparations.”

  Stepping into the adjacent briefing room, he keyed his LM. “Bradman.”

  “Captain Bradman, this is Eileen Trumper.”

  “What can I do for you, Ambassador?” He had long since abandoned any pretense at disguising his loathing of politicians.

  “I have a problem, Captain,” she said. “Or, more exactly, we have a problem.”

  For a reason he could not properly fathom, Telford’s face popped into Bradman’s mind.

  “Get to the point, Ambassador.”

  “Very well, Captain.” A slight pause. “Five members of your crew and one Francorum national have been arrested by the Cimmerian authorities. They are currently cooling their heels in the cells of Regency Palace.”

  Telford.

  “What are they charged with?”

  “Doctors Ning and Doucet are charged with giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Corporal Carpov, Chief Petty Officer Ritchie and Ensign Whitney are charged with assault on the person of the king’s representative, Captain Nigel Haynes. Ensign Telford is charged with assault of duly appointed king’s representative, namely three of the King’s Guards. He has also been charged with the additional and far more serious crime of attempted murder of Captain Haynes.”

  Bradman gritted his teeth and took a long breath. “What do my people have to say about those charges?”

  “Ah, at this time, I am uncertain.”

  “I beg your pardon, Ambassador? My people are facing, at best, prison time and at worst summary execution, and you are uncertain?”

  “Captain Bradman, there is no need to shout,” she said. “I have arranged to talk with the Cimmerian prime minister in an attempt to find a solution to this difficulty. The appointment is in ten minutes. Be assured I will do everything withi
n my power to find a resolution that everyone can live with. However, at this time my requests to visit and talk with the prisoners have been denied. The PM is a reasonable woman but the legal system on Cimmeria is … awkward to pin down.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “At this stage, nothing.” A weary sigh sounded through Bradman’s earpiece. “I simply thought you would wish to know what is happening with regard to your personnel.”

  “I appreciate you taking the time, Ambassador,” Bradman said. “How do you think things will play out?”

  The ambassador snorted without mirth. “Impossible to say. Cimmerian jurisprudence is a muddle of outmoded Bretish laws and convoluted ancient tribalism. As with most of the worlds outside of the Athenian Republic, they do not subscribe to our AVU, so the absolute truth will be difficult to establish. At the moment it doesn’t look good. The government has a zero tolerance policy with regard to attacks on their authorities. An attack on the King’s Guard is far worse. In some quarters it is seen as an attack on the very sovereignty of the King of Cimmeria.”

  “I appreciate you taking the time to bring me up to date, Ambassador. For now, I have a mission to complete and you have a prime minister to … sweet-talk. I should be back in a few days.”

  “All right, Captain, for now I shall bid you good day.”

  Bradman paced the room, practicing the breathing exercises Jemima had suggested. It helped, a little, but the image of a half-dozen nukes dropping onto the roof of the Regency Palace refused to waver.

  What the hell could Telford have done this time?

  Even if they avoided the death penalty, life in Battersby Prison would be an unpleasant and extremely short stay.

  His people were as good as dead and there was nothing he could do about it.

  CHAPTER 38

  Date: 22nd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Office of the Athenian Ambassador to Cimmeria. Athenian Consulate. Capital city of Panthera. Planet Cimmeria.

  Status: Recuperation.

  The air car journey from the camp to the capital was a blur. Nathan’s consciousness returned, and he wished it hadn’t. Within the confines of a dark cell, he desperately struggled for breath. Doctor Ning’s voice struggled to reach him through a haze of pain and near panic. Nathan held out his wrist.

  “They’ve confiscated my medical supplies. Remain sitting upright or you’ll suffocate. Breathe shallow. Slow and steady, Nathan.”

  Time passed like a smothering nightmare until a shadowy figure loomed over him. Then the blissful whisper of the hypo. Feeling started to return to his body as the air car landed within the consulate grounds.

  ***

  Nathan finished drying his hair and combed it into place before tying it back with a black ribbon. He touched the red scorch mark on his chest and hissed. The stun blast would heal in time, but he wondered if the chest hair would grow back.

  He slipped the fine, white cotton shirt on and flinched. He had been assured his fatigues would be returned at the end of the day, after cleaning and patching. He stepped out of the bathroom.

  The consulate’s guest quarters were large and luxurious, even with five additional occupants. Taking a seat with his friends, he savored the coffee. Out of curiosity he had begun counting to himself as he entered the room.

  “So, Nathan,” Lucky said, “what’s going to happen to us?”

  Twenty-six seconds.

  He shrugged and took another sip of the fine blend.

  Lucky adjusted the bandage which covered the wound to the back of his head.

  Nathan now fully understood how frail human beings were within this unforgiving environment. Even with the adjustment drugs, any form of exertion came with a price. The hours spent without the medication had drained them all. Nathan still felt a lingering lethargy. Despite the normal gravity within the embassy, the slouched positions of his shipmates spoke of their comparable fatigue.

  Doctor Ning entered the room and dropped heavily into a large lounge chair. His weary appearance matched the rest of them.

  “Doctor Doucet has been released from prison and handed over to the Francorum Consulate.” Ning sighed with obvious relief. Nathan felt a certain pleasure in hearing the news.

  Odd. Not only a Franc, but a doctor too. Still, she has heart.

  “That’s good to hear, Doc.” Ritchie’s swollen lip caused her to slur her words.

  “What about us?” Lucky asked.

  “The ambassador has been in meetings all afternoon. I expect we will find out in due course.”

  “I don’t see a martinet like Captain Haynes being impressed by good reason,” Nathan said.

  “No,” Ning said.

  They sat for a time, drinking coffee and picking at a plate of trimmed sandwiches.

  The door slid open and Eileen Trumper entered, followed by an elderly, female Cimmerian aide. The ambassador stood with her hands on her hips while casting a disapproving scowl over the five sailors.

  “I have been in meetings with the government officials and have negotiated a partial solution. It’s not an ideal resolution, but it’s the best I could manage in the time available.”

  “Time to pucker up, I bet,” Carpov said.

  Trumper frowned at the marine before continuing. “Due to the lack of evidence at the camp, the charges of giving aid to the enemy have been dropped. Doctor Doucet is free to return to her hospital if she wishes. Doctor Ning, you will remain here until Insolent returns from her assignment. Surprisingly, Captain Haynes has backed your story about the guard’s overreaction and assault of a LHO representative.”

  However.

  “However, his charge against Ensign Telford, that of attempted murder, stands.”

  “That’s absolute rubbish,” Ning cried. “Nathan could have killed him a dozen times over but chose not to.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Eileen?”

  The ambassador stared at the floor, then back to Nathan.

  “His pride’s been hurt,” Nathan said.

  Trumper nodded. “The fact that the authorities have dismissed all but one charge is unprecedented. But yes, they will want their kilo of flesh.”

  “And kilo of flesh,” Ning said, “means what?”

  “Ensign Telford, in four hours’ time you must stand before the Royal Court and plead your case,” Trumper said. “If the court shows mercy, you might get away with a nominal sentence.”

  “Nominal, meaning?” Ning asked.

  Trumper cleared her throat. “Five years in Battersby Prison.”

  A collective gasp filled the room. Nathan’s skin tingled as shock tightened his spine.

  “Five years in Battersby is a death sentence for most Cimmerians.” Ning’s normally pallid face had turned red with fury. “Once they remove his medication, a human wouldn’t last a day in such conditions.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trumper said, “but it was the best I could manage.” She stared at Nathan. “I am sorry, young man.”

  Nathan nodded. “I thank you for your efforts, Madam Ambassador. I assure you, however, if I am going to die on this rock, I will not go to my grave with the taste of Cimmerian butt on my lips.”

  “Eileen, there must be something you can do?” Ning pleaded.

  “If there was anything, anything I could do, I assure you, Sylvester, I would do it.”

  The ambassador’s aide mumbled something to her. She shook her head. “No, Hester, that is not an option.” The Cimmerian female said something else that Nathan could not make out. “No, Hester, and that is an end to it.”

  “As a party with a vested interest in the current proceedings,” Nathan said, “I’d be interested to hear what Hester has to say.”

  “Ensign, believe me, this is not a solution. I give you my assurance you would not like my aide’s proposal.”

  “Yeah, but you get that.” Nathan leaned forward and waved for Hester to join him on the couch.

  CHAPTER 39

>   The Cimmerian Royal Court assaulted Nathan’s sense of decency. It reflected, in its white marble columns and ornate carvings, the sort of thoughtless decadence Cimmerian royalty had become infamous for. While the majority of the population lived in squalor, the elite spent the mining royalties on this kind of indulgence.

  As the six Athenians and one elderly Cimmerian entered the great hall, Hester leaned in to Nathan’s ear and whispered the words one last time. Nathan nodded impatiently. Everything Nathan had learned about this world came down to this inquisition. Courage and strength were imbedded into the Cimmerian psyche. It would be terminal folly to show weakness to any of them.

  The hue from the white marble walls, columns and domed ceiling lit the room with an incandescent radiance. Hundreds of Cimmerians, dressed in the finest of Bretish hand tailoring, lined the concourse and multi-tiered gallery opposite the raised royal dais.

  The others peeled off and took their seats while Ambassador Trumper and Nathan marched to the steps beneath the dais. Captain Haynes stood beside them. He glanced at Nathan and, surprisingly, did not smirk, sneer or scowl. Odd.

  Three gaudily clad Cimmerians sat in ridiculously ornate, high-backed chairs; the king, naturally enough, occupied the most flamboyant of thrones. The ambassador had told Nathan that his judgment panel would consist of the king, the crown prince and the lord high chancellor.

  Nathan knew the protocol by heart. Ignoring the Athenians, the chancellor nodded to Haynes. Ambassador Trumper and Haynes bowed from the waist. Survival mode kicked in as Hester’s words came to mind: “Never show weakness to a Cimmerian.”

  The chancellor jumped to his feet. “You.” His finger struck out at Nathan. “You will bow before the rightful monarch of Cimmeria.”

  “No thanks.” Nathan crammed as much of his lethargic Kastorian into the two words as he could muster.