The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  Edmond nodded, and his mother stepped from behind the makeshift counter. “Please sir, come with me.”

  Nathan rubbed at the bump above his right eyebrow and followed.

  “You’re quite the popular fellow, Mister Telford,” Ritchie said, as she fell in beside him.

  Nathan glanced over his shoulder, to be met by two identical smirks from CC and Lucky.

  “God give me patience.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in—” Lucky began.

  “It’s only an expression, Lucky. You know, like, numb-nuts.”

  “Oh, yeah, but … hey!”

  They followed the Cimmerian through the lightly packed market for a few minutes before arriving at their destination. Nathan had been reaching out with his senses since leaving the embassy. Except for the occasional guards, he sensed no danger from these generous, affable people. They stepped through a doorway, just wide enough for a Cimmerian male, and into a shop. The sun spilled through a skylight, illuminating the shadowy interior.

  “John,” the woman said, “I have brought someone special to purchase your fine wares.”

  The short Cimmerian glanced from his screen and nodded to the female.

  “Athenians, yes?" he asked, then before they could answer, said, “We are always happy to serve our League allies. Welcome to John’s Quality Emporium.” He appraised Nathan and his friends as if summing up what buttons to press in order to extract money.

  John held his broad hands out to his sides. “How may I be of assistance to you fine young men and women?”

  “I’m looking for a pure silk scarf,” Lucky said.

  “Certainly, young man. I’m sure we can find something that will suit your solid, manly build.”

  “It’s not for me,” Lucky cried.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Carpov said around a smile.

  Lucky frowned, and John saw his opportunity. “Ah, of course, for the lady friend back home. Yes? Come with me.”

  Nathan chuckled, then strolled around the cluttered shop. Although Honest John was an obvious snake oil merchant, Nathan could not deny the quality of the merchandise he had on display. Some of the wooden carvings were exquisitely intricate. Not that he could buy them, what with Athens’ ultra-strict quarantine regulations.

  Within twenty minutes, purchases were made and they prepared to leave.

  “Please, ladies, gentlemen, don’t run off so quickly,” Honest John implored. “Stay, have coffee, as my guest.”

  Although they were alert to the dealer’s crafty motives, the collective wisdom said that Cimmerian coffee could not be as bad as the synthetic swill on the boat. In a back room, they sat around a small table while John poured coffee into small cups. Milk and sugar were not on offer. Nathan sniffed the coffee, finding the strong aroma pungently agreeable. He tasted it.

  “Wow!”

  Hot and strong, the flavor hit his taste buds as a welcome, yet bitter, reminder of better times.

  “Not good?” John ventured.

  “It’s very good, but very strong,” Nathan said.

  “We like our coffee strong on Cimmeria. Like our warriors.”

  Here we go.

  “We have heard about how you bested Captain Haynes. And, like your father before you, showed honor.”

  “Nathan took him out as clean as you like,” Lucky said. “Haynes didn’t see it coming.”

  Nathan cringed.

  Honest John ignored Lucky. “Are you, like your father, a pilot?”

  Nathan nodded, wondering when he would get to hear about his father’s time on this world. He was loath to ask questions in front of his shipmates.

  “Then perhaps, as a pilot, you would like to see the first military space craft designed and manufactured by Cimmerians?”

  “I sure as hell would,” Lucky said.

  So would I. Nathan nodded.

  ***

  The ground car slid to a smooth halt in the parking lot adjacent to the far-flung hangar area. The journey from the center of town to the outskirts of the spaceport had been brief and uneventful.

  A guard lounged against the wall of a guard post.

  “Give me a moment.” John approached the guard post and a discussion ensued. After a minute of spirited conversation, he pointed back to the four Athenians. The guard snapped to attention and waved them through.

  They passed through two additional guard posts before finally arriving at the main hangar. The huge building had seen better days and looked ready to collapse under its own weight. Another Bretish relic left over from the war.

  At the entrance they were approached by a young Cimmerian wearing dirty coveralls.

  “Uncle John, what are you…” his voice trailed off when he spotted Nathan. He snapped to attention. “Welcome, Sir. I am Chief Petty Officer Harper, Cimmerian Space Navy. We are honored to have you visiting our facility.”

  “Son of Telford,” Ritchie chimed in, her sarcasm lost on Harper.

  “We are honored to be here, Chief.” Nathan’s attention wandered to the looming shape behind Harper.

  “Telford and his friends have come to see our great accomplishment, Martin,” John said.

  “Of course, please step this way.”

  “What a beast,” Lucky said, as he took in the large craft.

  “Beast is right,” Ritchie said. “The thrust on this must be brutal.”

  CPO Harper beamed as a father would when complimented on his child’s first steps. “We are very proud of our efforts.”

  Nathan stared at the fighter, mesmerized. Easily three times the size of a Specter, its lines were so clean they reminded Nathan of the smooth contours of a monitor’s design.

  Carpov, being a marine, was less impressed. “So, can this thing actually get off the ground?”

  Harper ground to a halt and rounded on Carpov, irritation playing over his features.

  Nathan sent Carpov a warning glare. “She meant nothing by the comment, Chief. But you know what marines are like.”

  Harper nodded to Nathan and mumbled something akin to “friggin’ ground-pounder.”

  Stopping before the sleek craft, Harper folder his arms.

  “What do you think of her, Sir?”

  “Beautiful,” Nathan whispered.

  Nathan could see nothing that resembled stealth engines. The mid-set delta wings ran from the midsection of her fuselage back to the vertical and horizontal stabilizers. A tail assembly on a spacecraft? The sharp angles of the rectangular fuselage appeared awkward at first, but on second consideration, Nathan could imagine its sensor reflecting qualities being quite stealthy. But not with those two enormous thrust engines. Her sharp lines lacked grace, yet reminded him of a vid he had seen from the early days of Earth’s primitive attempts at supersonic flight. The dull black finish would make her difficult to pick up visually.

  “How does she handle?” Lucky asked.

  “Like a dream,” Harper said. “Equally well in vacuum or atmosphere.”

  Nathan’s mouth sagged open when a combat chair sprang from the top of the fuselage. A Cimmerian unbuckled and glanced at her visitors.

  She was smaller than many Cimmerians he had seen. A white lab coat covered civilian clothing. “Harper, get your lazy bum up here,” she barked.

  “Shit,” Harper said under his breath, and sprinted up the gantry.

  “I told you to replace that power relay, yesterday. I nearly got trapped inside the combat sphere again.”

  “I did replace it, Doctor, as instructed,” Harper said. “There’s something wrong with the power flow that keeps overloading the relays.”

  “Then you’d better find it,” she said, with only moderately less aggression.

  Harper leaned in to her ear, then jerked his head toward the Athenians. She glanced at Nathan and her manner softened.

  “Just find out what’s causing the overload, all right?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”


  Leaving the task with Harper, she stepped onto the gantry. She pulled a white cloth from a pocket and mopped her face and hands. As she approached the humans, she snapped, “How did you get in here?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Honest John, huddling behind Lucky’s broad back. He gave up the attempt, stepped out and grinned. “Good morning, Eleanor. Look who I’ve brought to see your wonderful achievement. It’s—”

  “I know who he is, you scandalous old crook. He’s someone not authorized to be anywhere near this top secret project. By God, I’m going to get the security of the place in order if it’s the last thing I do.” She spotted a guard lounging against a hangar door. “You!” A finger struck out at the guard, bringing him to immediate attention. “Get the security duty officer down here. Now!” The terrified guard took off at a sprint. Her gaze locked on to the humans, and her hands went to her hips.

  “And what do you find so bloody funny?”

  “Who, me?” Nathan said with exaggerated innocence. “Oh, I was thinking of the old joke about a three-legged dog.”

  He dared not break eye contact with her appraising glare. After a protracted silence, she said, “So, I hear you’re a pilot?” Her tone softened slightly.

  Nathan nodded.

  “Me too,” Lucky added.

  Eleanor bared her teeth. “And what makes you think I give a good country shit what you do. None of you are authorized to be here. If you think a slimy little chimp like Honest John will get you special treatment, think again.”

  “Aww,” John began, “but Ellie, I—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she shouted. “We might have the same parents, but that doesn’t give you the right to bring strangers into my workplace. Now get out!”

  Nathan could not help but like her.

  “You heard the lady.” As they turned to leave, Nathan said, “You’re probably right, Carpov. That heap of nuts and bolts wouldn’t get off the ground.”

  “What’d you say?” Eleanor roared.

  “I’ve lived in quarters smaller than that great, clunking disaster.” Nathan forced his smile down.

  “This great, clunking disaster could take out one of your Specter fighters with ease.”

  Nathan and his shipmates threw their heads back and laughed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Lucky said.

  “I’m perfectly serious,” Eleanor said. “And I can prove it to you.”

  With a slight degree of shame, Nathan thought, Sometimes I don’t even have to try that hard.

  Forcing the smile from his face, he extended his hand. “Nathan Telford, Monitor Corps.”

  She eyed him speculatively before shaking his hand. “Doctor Eleanor Worrell.” A wry smile. “Chief designer of this great, clunking disaster.”

  ***

  Eleanor’s features were very much the norm for female Cimmerians: her forehead was broad, but not as broad as a male’s; her nose wide, but not as wide as a male’s. Eleanor was, for a Cimmerian, an attractive woman. In the same way as humans, Cimmerian females were a more gracious, genteel version of the species.

  “You’re full of shit, Telford,” she spat.

  “All right, Eleanor, don’t blow a conduit,” Nathan said. “I’ve already taken back my comments about your flying house, haven’t I?”

  She nodded tersely.

  “It’s a fine design, and you should be proud of your achievement. But don’t let your pride get in the way of common sense. There is no way that a Kamora could out-turn a Specter. In many other respects, a contest between the two would be an interesting proposition.”

  “I would love to put my Kamora up against a Specter.” Her eyes shone above a hopeful smile. “Is that possible?”

  Nathan had been waiting for the question all afternoon and into the early evening, after Eleanor invited him to dinner.

  Frowning, he rubbed his eyebrow. “That would certainly be something to see. Hmm, I suppose I could run it past the skipper when Insolent returns from her assignment.” He shrugged. “Although I doubt that will happen. Athenians aren’t exactly your king’s favorite human beings at the moment.”

  “Don’t worry about that idiot,” she snapped, then glanced about, nervously. “A contest between Cimmeria’s best and” —she smiled— “dare I say, the son of Telford, would have the people cheering in the streets. The king is unpopular enough as it is. If he tried to stop such a contest, there would be…” Eleanor lowered her eyes to the table as the waiter served their meals.

  Nathan sniffed the thick broth. The rich aroma of meat, vegetables and mixed spices made his mouth water.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t ask,” she said. “Some outlanders find the ingredients to be offensive.”

  “Eleanor, I’ve eaten Rhodesian snails.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you later.” She winked.

  The meal continued in the same friendly vein, the awkwardness of their first meeting forgotten. Nathan scoured the bottom of the bowl with a fresh bread roll and sat back with a contented sigh.

  “Eleanor, I have to say, in all honesty, that is the best Cimmerian meal I’ve ever tasted.” He reached for his glass of robust red wine. “Why name your boat the Kamora?”

  Lowering her voice, she closed the gap between them. “This does not leave the table, Nathan.”

  Nathan nodded.

  “It’s from the old tongue of our people. Our original vernacular before the Brets civilized us. But it has been outlawed by the king. If he wasn’t such an idiot, he would know it came from the old language, meaning ‘flaming sword’.”

  “Flaming Sword.” Nathan mused. “Great name.”

  Eleanor beamed.

  “You’re none too fond of the king, are you?”

  “I’m not alone in that.” Eleanor glanced around expectantly. “But we shouldn’t be talking this way in public. The king has spies everywhere.”

  Nathan nodded and changed the subject.

  “So this is the second production prototype? How did Everett get a hold of the first?”

  “He decided he wanted my fighter, so he took it.” Although she shrugged, Nathan could tell from the coldness of her features that the king had committed an act of treachery Eleanor would never forgive.

  “I must reiterate, Eleanor, the Kamora will be a great first step for your fledgling space navy.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “Were you serious about me taking her up for a spin tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but we’ll have to be careful. We’ll smuggle you in early and close off the hangar to nonessential personnel.” She stretched, yawned, then eyed him with predatory intent. “I like you, Nathan.”

  “I like you too, Eleanor.”

  “Well then, can you give me one good reason why we shouldn’t leave here and head back to my place?”

  Nathan’s reply caught in his throat. It wasn’t the first time a woman had made the offer, but—

  “Eleanor, I am extremely flattered, and not just a little curious. But yes, I can give you one good reason.” While he talked, he reached for his DRP, displayed an enlarged holo of Livy and Ellen. “Two good reasons, in fact.”

  She nodded in weary acceptance. “Yeah, it’s the same old story. All the good ones are married or gay.”

  CHAPTER 42

  For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

  Who are as black as hell, and dark as night.

  Sonnet 147. William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

  Date: 24th March 322 ASC.

  Position: Cimmerian Outer Marker.

  Status: Bretish picket squadron, on station. Alert stand down.

  Commodore Dilley yawned, then stretched to relieve the kinks in his back. He found picket duty to be so boring. The same mind-numbing routine, day after dreary day. Ships arrived, he checked their credentials, and off they went, through the outer marker and on to Cimmeria. Part of him wished some enemy force would try to get past his squadron.
Of course, the chances of that were next to nothing.

  The only real excitement in the last two months had come two days ago when Ascot stumbled upon the Talgarno ships. Or what was left of them. Dilley had satisfied himself that the Talgarnos were what they said they were, even if some of his subordinates had their reservations. Despite their entreaties, he would not send his people onto a ship that could, for all they knew, be contaminated with the Derwent plague. The Talgarnos had been sensor-swept from stem to stern without detecting a single working weapon. After that minor piece of excitement, the dull routine had returned.

  Dilley brought up the image from the stern feeds. The Talgarnos might have been quite a formidable presence in their time, but that time had long since passed. Now they were nothing more than the broken remnants of a once-powerful fleet, sitting in idle contemplation of an uncertain future.

  ***

  Imperial Pruessen Navy Captain Matthes stepped onto the bridge of the Talgarno battleship Righteous Hand.

  “Status, XO?”

  Commander Harmon grinned as if he had won citizenship. “Not a peep out of them for the last day. They did their last scan at 0312 hours yesterday. Nothing since then.” He shook his head. “I thought the Royal Navy was one of the most professional outfits in the south. I at least expected them to send over a boarding party to check us out.”

  Matthes allowed a rarely seen smile to slither onto his face. “Don’t make the mistake of judging all Brets by Commodore Dilley’s standards, or lack of them. We simply got lucky with this one.”

  “Aye-aye, Skipper.” His grin softened marginally.

  “Did the senior engineer clear up that problem with the EDF?” Matthes asked.

  “Yes, Sir. Our weapons systems remain shielded behind the energy dampening field. All we have to do is drop the field and, as they used to say, rock and roll. As far as the Brets are concerned, we are nothing more than five badly damaged, weaponless Talgarno ships. They won’t know what hit them.”

  “Since the Brets have fallen asleep on the job, I think we’ll move up our schedule.” He turned to the communications alcove. “Comm, flash feed to Commodore Becklin with the armada. Message reads: Spearhead established at enclosed coordinates. Standing by for attack code.”