A large, three-dimensional image sprang to life from the projectors that looked like a long thick red cable with multi-coloured branches and orbs running from it in all directions. To Billy Caudwell’s eye, it looked very much like a model he had seen in his school science classes to represent the human circulatory system.
“This schematic is a pictorial representation of the route of the Exodus. The red line represents the route taken from Thexxia to the point where we met with First Admiral Caudwell. Each of the branches with white spheres represents where a vessel was lost. The different types of vessel are represented by different coloured branches. This for example,” Vaianen continued, and magnified a yellow branch with a large white sphere, “is where an Accommodation ship was lost. The white sphere is a representation of the distance that the ship could have travelled, at top speed, in the time since its loss. So, as you can see the spheres closest to old Thexxia are much larger than those where a ship was more recently lost.”
“Professor,” an Alliance officer interrupted from the opposite side of the table to Vaianen, “are you really suggesting that we search close to old Thexxia, which is deep within Bardomil occupied space?”
“That is a valid point, Commander,” Billy interrupted, “which we shall take on board for the Planning Briefing. For the moment we are simply here to ascertain facts and discuss ideas, although, the military is well aware that the Bardomil scanners cannot penetrate our stealth fields.”
“Sir, my apologies,” the officer responded.
“No need, Commander, we need all of your ideas and expertise,” Billy flattered.
“Looking at the schematic and the historical record, I have concluded that there are over seven and a half thousand vessels missing from the Exodus; some were stragglers owing to equipment malfunctions of some kind,” Vaianen returned to his presentation, “but, by far the greatest majority were lost when the fleet had to disperse under Bardomil attack. The green squares……” Vaianen continued.
Throughout the three-dimensional schematic hundreds of tiny green squares began to flash.
“….indicate where major dispersals occurred as a result of Bardomil aggressive actions,” Vaianen continued.
“And, this is where we’re most likely to find large numbers of our people?” a female Thexxian military officer asked.
“You mean a large number of our dead; we’re going to need a lot of body bags!” another Thexxian military officer interceded.
“Alive or dead,” Billy took charge of the situation, “we find them, and we bring them back to New Thexxia,” and set down his first policy decision, “what sort of search area are we looking at here, Professor?” Billy questioned.
“Based on my calculations; the main route of the Exodus covered just over seventy-three million kilometres in those twenty years and with a nine million kilometre deviation from that main route, I would say between one point three and one point four billion square kilometres, First Admiral,” Vaianen announced calmly as only an academic could.
For a moment there was a stunned silence around the table.
“And, how long would a standard search with the two Explorers take to cover that kind of territory, Commander Chulling?” Billy asked the Alliance officer who had interrupted previously.
“You mean three Explorers, sir; I’m assuming the search would require one vessel to transport survivors and remains back to New Thexxia?” Chulling responded.
“Good point, very well, three Explorers,” Billy conceded.
“About five months, sir,” Chulling gave as honest an answer as he could.
“But, sir, suppose some of our people have fallen into the hands of species who can travel faster than light speed?” another female Thexxian officer piped up.
“Then, they could be anywhere in the universe,” Billy had to admit, “I can ask our Technical officers if any advanced species inhabit, or are regular travellers through these regions.”
“It would take us centuries to search all the surrounding galaxies,” Chulling added his observation.
“I think Commander Chulling may be correct,” Billy intoned, “we can only do so much and looking at Professor Vaianen’s fine work, we should be able to find the majority of those lost within this area.”
“First Admiral,” the familiar voice of Chief Physician Laxxor broke into the silence, “we have more than enough equipment, drugs and healthcare capacity within the military base, however, if we have a large influx of survivors we may be short handed in terms of trained medical personnel,”
“And, large numbers of deceased may well cause a strain on our Population Registration Technicians,” a male Thexxian civilian began.
With a deep sigh, Billy Caudwell smiled resignedly, and started to tune out. This was where the bureaucrats and number crunchers would come into their own, which would require them to set up their own working parties. But, for now, Billy was quite happy to let them throw out ideas and suggestions.
Looking at the time keeping numerals that danced relentlessly onwards on the three- dimensional image, Billy realised that he would have to go home soon.
That was one of the burdens of his double life, and, at some point he would have to find some kind of solution, but, not just yet.
Chapter 38
As Billy Caudwell contemplated the decision between the two separate elements of his double life, Falkus Margallan was preparing for an emergency session of the High Council. The situation had deteriorated during the night, and the violence had escalated to the extent that demonstrators, whom Falkus now liked to call terrorists, and Civil Militia officers had been killed. Somehow the terrorists had gotten hold of weapons and were prepared to use them, with fatal consequences, on fellow Thexxians.
The report from the Civil Militia had made grim reading for Falkus Margallan, as he sat in his office. A night patrol of Civil Militia had been carrying out their duties along one of the numerous Landing Pads close to the accommodation wing when they had disturbed a group of people. As it was late at night, the Civil Militia challenged the group and within moments found themselves caught in a crossfire from a carefully set and prepared trap. Two out of the five militia Officers were killed instantly, whilst the survivors took whatever cover they could find and returned fire. In the darkness and confusion there was a brisk fire-fight that left another Militia Officer and seven assailants dead with one further Militia Officer wounded and indications of several of the assailants injured. By the time Civil Militia reinforcements arrived on the scene, the assailants had fled, leaving a scene of carnage and horror in their wake.
Eight Thexxians had been apprehended bearing weapons injuries and were currently being seen by medical technicians before being questioned by the Civil Militia. It was a deliberately, carefully planned and organised trap, Margallan thought to himself, as he read the report with increasing horror and realisation. Sitting in the throne-like Praetor Maximus chair at the head of the High Council table, Margallan watched the weary and sleepy-eyed Praetors begin to filter in for what was something they had grown used to not attending. During the flight from the Bardomil they had sat in emergency session several times every week as each new threat came and went. Now, they had grown accustomed to sleeping at nights in comfortable beds, and had been rudely awakened by their Aides and Staff to attend this meeting in the depths of darkness. Many, who were not aware of the most recent fatal developments, were already complaining loudly. Whilst others either aware of the situation or that Falkus would not summon them at this hour without good reason, sat silently with their apprehensions and sense of foreboding.
“Fellow Praetors,” Falkus opened the Meeting in the time honoured Thexxian manner, “I apologise for dragging you from your beds at this hour, however, there have been serious and disturbing developments within the last hour in which Thexxians have lost their lives.”
He paused for a moment to allow this piece of news to penetrate the sleep befuddled minds of some of the Praetors, and also to gauge thei
r responses. There was shock, horror, outrage and, from some, a look of resignation and despair at the inevitability of these actions.
Falkus had himself expected something like this to occur at some point, but not quite so soon. This really was a well organised and planned course of action, which seemed to be escalating. He only hoped it was not escalating beyond his control. Carefully, he watched Gallus Bulbore with a growing feeling of anger and hatred. He wanted to climb over the table and seize her by the throat before choking the life from her. Yet, he had no proof of her involvement. The Civil Militia could find no link between Bulbore and the disaffected elements within the population though Falkus knew that she was behind it all.
“Fellow Praetors, a patrol of five Civil Militia Officers were deliberately ambushed by armed Thexxian terrorists,” Falkus began.
“Praetor Maximus!” Gallus Bulbore interjected, “I object to the term terrorist being used to describe people standing up for their beliefs.”
“Praetor Bulbore, I am not here to listen to arguments about semantics,” Falkus snapped loudly, “Civil Militia Officers have been ambushed and deliberately murdered, yes murdered, Praetor Bulbore, in the peaceful pursuance of their duties by armed Thexxians.
These are no longer peaceful placard waving protesters, this was an armed and organised gang intent on killing other Thexxians!”
Astonished at the ferocity and anger of the Praetor Maximus assault, Bulbore was silenced for a few moments.
“How do we know that these were not just ordinary common criminals undertaking a robbery?” she blurted, nervously.
“Because the Civil Militia have already interrogated……” Falkus began.
“You mean they have tortured them into claiming to be Separatists,” Bulbore interrupted.
There was pandemonium in the High Council chamber as Praetors challenged Bulbore’s assertion. It took several bangs on the table to restore order to the room.
“If you have any evidence of torture or improper behaviour by the Civil Militia please present it to the relevant authorities, Praetor Bulbore, according to the report, the captured assailants freely admitted to being part of what you describe as a Separatist movement,” Falkus responded.
“Praetor Maximus,” one of the other Praetors spoke up, “this is an intolerable situation we must call in the military.”
Once again there was uproar in the High Council Chamber as arguments broke out spontaneously. Again Falkus Margallan banged the table with his hand to restore order.
“Praetor Taesouy speaks for many on the High Council, I suspect, from a genuine concern for the safety of the people,” Falkus said, “However, I am personally reluctant to use Thexxian soldiers to police other Thexxians. Even in the days of our escape from the Bardomil we never resorted to controlling the people with the military.”
“Yes, Praetor Maximus, but Thexxians weren’t killing Thexxians!” another Praetor interjected.
“If we called in the military,” Bulbore added, “wouldn’t we just be adding fuel to the flames?”
“You seem to know a great deal about how these particular terrorists will respond, Praetor Bulbore?” another of the Praetors asked accusingly, which brought a chorus of supportive voices.
“Praetor Maximus, I object to this scurrilous and unfounded accusation!” she bristled with feigned outrage, “If the Praetor has any evidence to support that assertion then let me hear it now!” she demanded. Despite further outbreaks of shouting, Falkus brought the meeting back to order again.
“I propose that we should vote on instructing the military to support the Civil Militia in maintaining order, those in favour?” Falkus called the vote. Several hands shot up almost instantly, whilst a single waverer took slightly longer.
“Against?” Falkus called, and slightly more hands were raised than before.
“Abstaining?” he called for those who would not commit to either side of the vote, and no hands were raised.
“Motion defeated,” Falkus announced, “however, we still have to do something in response to this serious situation.”
“We have to declare a curfew, Praetor Maximus, at the very least, and perhaps even Emergency Powers,” Taesouy suggested.
There were murmurs of assent around the table, and remarkably Bulbore stayed quiet. What is she up to? Falkus thought to himself, scrutinising the source of all the pain and hardship of the Thexxian people. Catching his gaze, she smiled softly, a silent, yet very visible, personal challenge to his authority. Yes, of course, he answered his own question in his mind; she’s letting us take small steps towards alienating ourselves from the people. Emergency Powers, then military intervention and then Martial Law, with the brave Gallus Bulbore standing forth and speaking up for the people against the ever more repressive measures, very clever Gallus, but not quite clever enough.
Falkus Margallan did not get to become Praetor Maximus by not knowing a few tricks of his own. He decided, at that moment that he would call Gallus Bulbore’s bluff, and force the issue. The vote on Emergency Powers went as Falkus had expected. The majority in favour, two against, including Bulbore, and three abstentions; the motion was carried. He adjourned the session to allow the Civil Militia to draw up the terms of the curfew and the Emergency Powers for the High Council to vote on that afternoon.
As the Praetors filed out again, he was tempted to privately challenge Bulbore. However, Falkus did not want to tip his hand just yet.
Timing was everything in this game, and it was a game for very high stakes.
Chapter 39
“Sir, all stations report that we’re ready to proceed,” the WATO announced in the eager and excited hushed silence of the cavernous War Room.
For a brief moment, everything fell into a disconcerting silence for Billy Caudwell. This was not an exercise any more. This was going to be a fully fledged rescue against armed resistance. The dull blue-white planet that showed on the View Screen below the Aquarius was called Sarg, by its original inhabitants. Sarg was an ice-bound world that had been so for many millennia. The last of the original Sargians had perished in the increasingly bitter cold, before the ice and increasing methane levels had finally made the planet uninhabitable. However, the abundant supply of a mineral called Rentrec, beneath the surface, had drawn a species called the Touway to set up a deep mining installation, within a pressurised force shield on the hostile planet.
Rentrec was a mineral used by many species to harden the metals that made up their space vehicles. It was a valuable commodity, and made even more valuable as it was a dangerous substance to produce. It was a dangerous operation to mine raw Rentrec, with the refining and purification an even deadlier process as it gave off high levels of radiation and poisonous gases. The Touway had developed the mining and refining operation on Sarg with the use of thousands of captured Thexxian slaves.
“Very well, WATO, proceed according to schedule,” Billy set in motion the mission that would be the first use of Alliance personnel in a combat situation.
For nearly three weeks, the Alliance fleet of one Star-Cruiser and three Explorers had combed the path of the twenty-year Thexxian Exodus. There had been an almost constant stream of dead Thexxians recovered. The storage bays of the rescue ships had been crammed to capacity with the dead as they had shuttled back and forth to New Thexxia. As the days of endless corpse recovery had dragged monotonously into weeks, the morale of the Alliance personnel had started to wane. With each passing day their hope of finding any survivors plummeted further and further downwards.
Then, a routine sweep of a small moon had shown the wreckage of one of the huge Accommodation vessels. Fearing the discovery of tens of thousands more dead, the Scanner Technicians had been puzzled to locate no more than one hundred bodies. It was then that broader sweeps of what was believed to be an uninhabited sector had shown the facility on Sarg with over fifty-thousand live Thexxians.
“Initiating phase one, now,” the WATO intoned formally, “thirty seconds to contact.”<
br />
Switching the View Screen image to Real View, Billy watched the activity on one of the Storage Bays aboard Aquarius.
On the Screen, Billy could see a group of armed, light-blue clad figures in a rough circle on the dark grey Bay floor. This was one of the Welcoming Committees as Billy had christened them. Their job was to secure the Touway who would be abducted, via the teleporters, from the facility in phase one of the operation. The full garrison of Touway numbered close to eight hundred, to guard almost sixty-thousand Thexxian slave miners. It was not a large number, but then the atmosphere outside the force shield was poisonous which made escape a near impossibility.
Eight hundred enemies in the facility were still too many for Billy Caudwell to be entirely comfortable with. He knew that he needed to thin down the garrison, as they could start to kill Thexxians when the operation really got underway.
“Let’s see what our guests think of our hospitality,” Billy smiled, continuing to watch the View Screen image.
As the seconds counted down towards the appointed moment for the abduction of the Touway, Billy watched the circle of Thexxians become more anxious and nervous. Their N.C.O., pistol in hand, prowled along the back of the circular line calming and encouraging his troops as a good leader should. Some of the nervous, younger Thexxians were agitatedly wrapping, and unwrapping, the carrying straps of their pulsar-rifles from their forearms and wrists to get a better grip of the weapon.
The Garmaurian pulsar-rifle, with which the Alliance troops were armed, consisted of a barrel which took the shape of a solid narrow cylinder surrounded by seven slightly shorter cylinders. The trigger mechanism was set high on the right of the pistol-type hand grip. The Garmaurians had possessed only a thumb and two digits, and had used their thumb to fire their weapons. The butt of the weapon was a narrow spindly affair which ended in a curved metal bar that was wedged against the firer’s shoulder to brace against the almost non-existent recoil.
First Admiral 01 First Admiral Page 25
