“Yes, Chief.”
“See how it goes for another day, if we’re still getting around the two percent mark then we’ll have to reconsider, or we’re still going to be here when we retire.”
“Right you are, Chief.”
The monotony of the task was starting to affect Lurca’s morale, and Magriennen knew it was a problem with all of his people. The constant repetition, without a break, and seemingly no end in sight, was draining everyone. It was an issue he was going to have to raise with the First Admiral at the next report meeting.
“I’m prioritising the main power release to the main armament circuits,” Magriennen said as he looked into the open panel once more and saw nothing but burned out circuit boards. “It has more fail-safes, but once we’ve sorted that out I’m prioritising the force shielding,” he added.
“Right, Chief.”
“I thought that force shielding wouldn’t be so badly damaged and it would be a quick win for you, but that’s a disaster area. You’re too valuable to be wasted down here, Lurca, I need you on the Thrust Engine circuits.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Do what you can for today, then run a full circuit scan to give us an idea of how much work it’s going to need, and report to me at the end of the shift. You’ve done well here, Lurca,” he praised as he walked away. “I need you on Thrust Engines.”
Lurca smiled proudly and lifted the Micro-Probe again.
Chapter 8
The Muscigny Estate, March 26th
The next morning, Billy Caudwell, escorted by four Landing Troopers and the Senior Integration Officer, strode confidently towards the broken down Citadel on the Muscigny Estate. Through the swirling dust, kicked up by their heavy boots, the six figures made their progress under the cloudless, sunny sky of a bright spring day. Clutched firmly in his right hand, Billy carried the Land Grant parchment that he had received in Jerusalem.
Heading up the dirt track towards the open double gates of the run-down Citadel, Billy noticed the ragged outer walls and piles of rubble that had accumulated from the years of neglect. A mangy looking goat chewed optimistically at some tough grass growing close to the gate, which was hung precariously from its hinges. Whilst nearby, a couple of skinny chickens, with a patchy covering of feathers, scratched hopefully at the dirt for some form of sustenance.
“Welcome to our new empire,” Billy said ironically as he stopped just outside the broken gates.
The Senior Integration Officer, a tall gloomy-faced Hubbart named Gummell, smiled as he scanned the inner battlements of the Citadel.
“Hello!? Anybody home!?” Billy called out to the empty inner courtyard.
The deafening silence that greeted his announcement spoke testimony to the terror of the local populace. Scanning the courtyard, Billy had to acknowledge that it wasn’t every day that a fully-armed Universal Alliance Star Cruiser fell out of the sky from eight centuries in the future. Such an occurrence would be, to say the least, a little bit disconcerting.
“Hello!? Is there anybody here!?”
To his right, what appeared to be stable blocks and storage buildings remained stubbornly silent. To his front, a large, shabby, two-storey, mud-brick structure; which Billy assumed was the Residence, also failed to divulge the whereabouts of any living inhabitants.
“Spread out, see if there’s anyone here,” Billy ordered the four Landing Troopers, who dispersed into the courtyard to search the buildings.
“Well, it’s not exactly the most luxurious accommodation, sir,” Gummell commented.
“I’m not planning on being here too long,” Billy replied, and the conversation was cut short by a loud human scream from inside the Residence building.
“No! Please!” a voice begged loudly from within the Residence.
“Looks like the Troopers have found something,” Billy said and walked towards the double doors of the Residence.
“Please! Don’t kill me!” the voice wailed once again as Billy stepped into the Residence through the open half of the double doors.
The two-storey building, which seemed to have only half a roof, was dominated by the walkways that ringed each floor connected not by stairs, but by ramps. On the lower ramp a Landing Trooper was pushing and kicking a middle-aged human male figure in a long dusty brown robe towards the ground floor.
“STOP!!” Billy called out to the Landing Trooper. “Bring them down gently!” he ordered, cursing himself for not making the order more explicit to the over-zealous Troopers in the first place.
The Landing Trooper snapped to the ‘attention’ position as the brutalised figure tumbled down the last few metres to the foot of the ramp, landing in an ungainly heap at Billy and Gummell’s feet.
“Please Great Demon, do not kill me!” the figure begged, scrambling to its knees and lowering its head and arms down to the dust.
“Come on, please get up,” Billy sighed wearily to the prostrate figure.
This wasn’t quite the introduction to his new feudal fiefdom that he wanted, having watched the Landing Trooper assault the first person they had found on the estate.
“No! Please!” the grovelling elderly man pleaded.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Billy made the gesture to ‘dismiss’ angrily to the Trooper, who trotted away to search the rest of the Residence.
Crouching down on one knee in front of the prostrate man, Billy took him gently by the arms and guided him unsteadily to his feet.
“Who are you?”
“I am Ibrahim, I am the Steward.”
“Well, Ibrahim, I am First Admiral Caudwell,” Billy said, offering the frightened old man a handshake. Shying away from the hand, Ibrahim stared at the newcomer, wide-eyed as a frightened animal. “Where I come from, we usually say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Billy said, taking the terrified old man’s right hand in his own and shaking it gently.
Nervously, the old man looked at Billy before drawing his hand away quickly. Looking at the elderly Steward, Billy saw that he was short, even for the twelfth century. That was going to be useful, he considered, as many of the crew on the Aquarius were Thexxians. The Thexxians were generally much shorter in stature than the humans from the late twentieth century. But here they would be close to what was considered a normal height.
“Ibrahim, do you recognise this?” Billy asked, holding the parchment scroll with the heavy wax seal out towards the elderly Steward.
“It is the Great Seal of Jerusalem.”
“That’s right Ibrahim, the King has granted me this estate. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You are the new Lord and Master of Muscigny?”
“Yes, Ibrahim, if I can call you Ibrahim? And, I want to know exactly what goes on here.”
“Yes, Sidi, of course, Sidi, if you’ll follow me,” Ibrahim addressed Billy with the new honorific and gained some of his composure, hesitantly leading the way to one of the rooms beneath the first floor walkway.
In the small, cramped, dirty room with the low ceiling, Ibrahim swept the dust, and a loudly-protesting scrawny red chicken, from the parchments strewn over the small table that filled almost the entire space. Light flooded in from a large window with ramshackle shutters which hung perilously from their hinges and gave a panoramic view of the entire northern part of the estate.
“Sidi, I have done my best to keep records,” Ibrahim began, holding up a long and wide piece of yellowing parchment covered in a spidery scrawl that passed for writing, and long wavy lines that indicated the extent of the estate.
“This is your map of the estate, Ibrahim?” Billy asked, spreading the parchment out on the table.
From the crude drawing, Billy could see that Muscigny was L-shaped. The Citadel stood at the southern edge of the estate, perched on the edge of a rise for defensive purposes. This gave the estate two levels, with two sides of the Citadel perched on the edge of a fairly steep two hundred metre drop.
To the west of the Citadel, the ground sloped more gen
tly to the lower level, whilst to the east, the ground formed a flat plain that stretched to the horizon. This gave the southern part of the estate the long foot of the L-shape. Whoever had built the Citadel knew exactly what they were doing. The broken down fortified building dominated the north and west of the territory. The main road that ran from Acre, on the north-west coast, to Jerusalem would always be under the watchful scrutiny of the Citadel. The Citadel would also be a good base camp for any military action to the north and east in the direction of Damascus. Looking at the bigger picture, Billy realised that the broken down estate of Muscigny was likely to be very important strategically in time of war. To the south of the Citadel, the shattered Star Cruiser lay at the end of the deep gouge it had torn in the dusty, yellow ground. Beyond the shattered pale-blue spaceship, the hills of Jerusalem shimmered in the afternoon sun.
Looking down at the map of the estate, Billy considered that this place that was very defensible, even if they only had the weapons and technology of the time.
“So.” Billy began examining the L-shaped map in more detail as two of the Landing Troopers returned from searching the outbuildings. “We have water, here and here?” he indicated what appeared to be two circular structures at either end of the estate.
“Yes, Sidi.”
“Anything?” Billy asked the Landing Troopers
“Nothing, sir,” the muffled voice from one of the visored-helmets responded.
“So, Ibrahim, we have land and water here, so where are the people and the farms?” Billy asked.
“Sidi, there are no farms and the people have...” Ibrahim began and was interrupted by a loud animal shriek of pain.
“What the...!?” a startled Billy exclaimed, and moved quickly to the large open window.
Out on the estate, Billy could see a large, overweight man swinging something, possibly a stick, at a stricken donkey. The small grey donkey, yoked to a water wheel, had fallen and was braying and screaming in pain and distress as it struggled to stand up again. A small, thin boy in ragged clothing with chains on his ankles was desperately trying to protect the fallen animal.
“STOP THAT!!” Billy Caudwell yelled from the window. “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!” he ordered as the boy flung himself at the raised arm of the fat man.
The donkey screamed once more as it tried to stand up and failed. Falling over, the donkey brayed in alarm, and then pain as the fat man’s arm swung down once more; the young boy tried to hold him back with all of his feeble strength.
“I SAID STOP THAT!!” Billy yelled once more, his anger and frustration starting to boil over.
The donkey screamed again as the stick fell; the fat man pushed the young boy aside with his free arm.
“He can’t hear you, sir,” Gummell observed as the fat man leaned over to deliver even harder strokes to the stricken animal.
“Trooper, stun him!” Billy instructed and stood aside as one of the Landing Troopers stepped up to the window.
Aiming carefully, the Landing Trooper let loose the lowest yield pulsar-bolt that the seven-barrelled weapon could produce. An instant later, the pale-yellow bolt streaked downrange and struck the fat man full on the chest as he raised his arm to the collapsed donkey once again.
The bolt struck clean and true, knocking the fat man from his feet and flat onto his back on the ground, where he started to tremor and spasm.
“Good shot, Trooper,” Billy said and ran for the doorway.
Followed by Ibrahim, Gummell and the two Troopers, Billy darted out of the Residence across the courtyard and out of the Citadel. Scampering down the gentle western slope, Billy quickly covered the ground down onto the huge rectangular southern plain. Driven by anger and outrage, it took less than a few minutes for him to cover the ground to the well where the distressed donkey was still braying loudly and trying to stand up. Hampered by the ropes and chains from the yoke to the water wheel, the small, painfully-thin grey donkey was having trouble regaining its feet.
“Hassan! No! Hassan!” the young boy, an Arab, tried to calm the donkey which continued to thrash and struggle on the ground, braying and bellowing in its panic.
“Calm it!” Billy called out as he approached the scene with Gummell and the Landing Troopers close behind.
Startled by the sudden demise of the now shuddering fat man, the young boy looked up to see four uniformed creatures dashing towards him. And in that moment, he too panicked.
“Please don’t hurt him!” the young boy pleaded, holding out his left hand in supplication whilst trying to calm the struggling donkey with his right.
“Calm him down!” Billy ordered as he reached the well and stepped determinedly over the fallen donkey.
With one smooth movement, Billy drew the short Landing Trooper Battle-Blade from his boot top and cut through the rope on the yoke, freeing the donkey. With a loud bray, the donkey fell sideways having been released from the constricting burden on its neck.
“Please! Please don’t hurt him!” the young boy pleaded again trying to calm the braying, thrashing and snorting animal.
“Just keep him calm!” Billy ordered, yanking the chain from its mooring on the water wheel.
Finally freed from the well, the donkey struggled and lurched to its feet, pulling the young Arab boy with it. Once on its feet, the donkey hobbled a few steps, its rear right leg held up before it collapsed again gasping, braying and panting in the dust.
“Please, don’t hurt him, he’s just tired that’s all,” the boy pleaded again, lying across the donkey’s neck to try to calm it down. “I will push the wheel until Hassan is rested.”
“No one’s going to harm him,” Billy promised gathering up the chain from the donkey and throwing it back over the water wheel.
“You all right, sir?” Gummell asked arriving on the scene with the Landing Troopers at his heels
“Yes, I’m fine, get a Medical Technician down here for this animal,” Billy ordered, starting to gather up the rope from around the donkey’s neck. “Come on, shift this drive shaft.” Billy called the Landing Troopers over to move the shaft that the donkey had been pulling.
With the two burly Troopers, Billy set his weight to the shaft, which creaked and groaned in protest as it was shoved further round its circuit away from the fallen donkey. When the shaft had been moved, the rope went the same way as the chain.
A moment later, a bright blinding flash of light heralded the arrival of a blue-uniformed Thexxian medical technician. Startled by the sudden arrival of the young Thexxian female, the boy let out a wail of despair. Strange things were now happening, and the young boy was just completely unable to comprehend them.
“Sir?” The young Medical Technician waited for instructions.
“Sort out this donkey.” Billy indicated the fallen animal that grunted and snorted in the dust.
“Yes, sir. What about that one?” she indicated the tremoring fat man.
“Tend to him after the donkey, if I haven’t thrown him down the well.”
“Sidi! Sidi!” Ibrahim finally joined the gathering.
“What’s your name, son?” Billy asked the young boy as the Medical Technician gently pushed him away from the donkey’s neck.
“He is Khalil,” Ibrahim answered breathlessly for the young boy. “He’s lazy and useless and...”
“But, he has a way with animals, doesn’t he?” Billy cut the Steward off in full flow as he watched the Technician pass a hand-held medical scanner over the now motionless, gasping donkey’s body.
“Yes, Sidi.” The Steward knew when not to argue a point.
“Khalil?” Billy said quietly, crouching down next to the trembling boy. “Khalil!?” he called for his attention the second time.
“Yes, Sidi?” Khalil replied nervously as he watched the Technician working on the donkey.
“You were very brave there, Khalil,” Billy said, “standing up for your donkey.”
“He’s all I have left, Sidi,” Khalil said sadly as he watched the Technician,
his tired eyes moistening with tears.
“We’ll do everything we can for him,” Billy promised as the Technician put the scanner into the hold-all she was carrying.
“Well, sir,” the Technician sighed, “the animal is weak, he’s badly malnourished, he’s dehydrated, he’s anaemic, the tendons in his right leg are damaged; but not severely, he’s infested with parasites both internal and external, there’s some form dermatitis, but most of all he’s just exhausted.”
“What’s the prognosis?” Billy asked, watching Khalil shuffle over to cradle the grunting donkey’s head in his arms.
“Well, with care, good nutrition, rest, some minor surgery and physiotherapy on that leg, he’ll be back to some degree of normality in a couple of months.”
“You hear that Khalil?” Billy said with a smile. “He’ll be all right, it’ll just take time.”
“Thank you, gracious lady!” Khalil blurted out grabbing the Thexxian Medical Technician’s hand with both of his own, kissing it repeatedly.
Slightly taken aback, the young Technician tried to remove her hand gently from the grip of the young boy.
“Khalil?” Billy drew his attention away from the Technician. “Let the gracious lady do her work?”
“Forgive me, Sidi, gracious lady,” Khalil said softly, laying the Medical Technician’s hand down gently.
“Technician,” Billy turned to the young Thexxian female, “do what you can here and then transport him to one of the outbuildings in the Citadel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, make sure young Khalil here is involved in the Recovery Plan,”
“Yes, sir. Putting fluids and nutrients back into his system has to be priority, sir, I can do something about the external parasites and skin problems here, but his system just won’t be able to handle multiple drug treatments at the one time.”
“Do what you think is best, Technician,” Billy said, rising slowly to his feet.
It was only then that Billy spotted the leg irons fastened at Khalil’s ankles.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 7
