“Yes, they did, didn’t they?” The shell-shocked Grand Adjudicator had to agree.
“Yes, they did, Grand Adjudicator. That was the will of the people.”
“Yes,” Bellor said softly.
“Well, now you can bring Varnus’ dream back to life, Grand Adjudicator. Ganthus has water, the new harvests will be collected soon, there’s no need to import food or water anymore.” Billy went in for the final kill. “And, the new Frontier Fleets will serve the people of the Empire, not terrorise them.”
He could see that Bellor was teetering on the edge of acceptance, but the Grand Adjudicator, and the whole Ganthoran Empire, would need a lot of support from the Alliance. After a long pause, Bellor spoke.
“Very well, Your Imperial Majesty.” Bellor knew how momentous this decision would be. “I accept.” With those two words, he changed the face of the Ganthoran Empire.
Forever.
Chapter 22: The Calyx Wormhole
As Billy Caudwell was convincing Grand Adjudicator Bellor that his future destiny was to be Emperor of the Ganthorans, a small single-seat Axe-Blade fighter crept slowly from behind a large chunk of space wreckage. Anxiously, the pilot focussed on the passing patrol of three Alliance Eagle fighters on his short-range scanner. The Alliance Eagles had been patrolling the Ganthoran side of the Calyx wormhole since the rout of the combined Frontier Fleets the previous day.
Hiding behind what had previously been part of the Communications Centre of a Ganthoran Cruiser, the Axe-Blade pilot held his breath and tried to make himself as small as possible. For a moment, he considered deploying the three tear-drop weapons pods around the collar of the bubble canopy of the fighter. But, he knew that he had to maintain as small and insignificant a profile as he possibly could to avoid the Alliance patrols. To increase the profile of his vessel, especially in an area of debris; where the piece of metal did not alter in size, would have drawn the attention of curious Alliance Scanner Technicians and the curiosity of their Eagle pilots.
Watching his own short-range scanner intently, the Axe-Blade pilot manoeuvred his fighter around the lump of space debris to ensure that his fighter was always on the opposite side of the metal lump to the Eagles. Slowly and delicately, the pilot edged the Axe-Blade around the metal lump. He was careful not to push the throttle device too hard, lest the whine of the electro-magnetic drive broke through the silence of what had become a warships’ graveyard. For agonising seconds, which seemed like hours to him, the Ganthoran pilot watched the three orange squares of the Alliance Eagles hover close to his position. The Eagle pilots were scanning the immediate area before moving on to the next scanning point.
Breaking into a cold sweat, and with his muscles beginning to cramp from their lack of movement, the Ganthoran pilot silently urged the Alliance Eagles to go about their business elsewhere in the massive debris field. He knew that he had to be silent and patient if he was to face even the remotest chance of survival. His scanners had shown him that this was a path of debris that he could use for cover all the way to the edge of the warships’ graveyard. From there, he could make a dash for the Bardomil frontier and relative safety.
If there were Alliance patrols at the frontier, he would just have to run the risk, taking the chance that his fighter could either out fly, outgun, or outrun the Alliance vessels pitted against him. Having seen the Alliance Eagles in action, the pilot was not confident that he would survive any form of encounter with them. But, he knew that he had no alternative other than to try to escape. So far, he had managed to convince the Alliance that he was dead; the lifeless corpse of his body double would fool the Alliance and Ganthoran authorities only as long as it took them to check the genetic coding of the remains. Once that result was known, then the hunt would be on for him in earnest. And, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the Alliance as he could before that event took place.
When the Eagle patrol had passed, the pilot let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. The Axe-Blade slowly and carefully emerged from behind the safety of the debris, whilst the pilot calculated the correct moment to make his move to the next large piece of warship debris that he could use for cover. The next target was the free-floating tear-drop weapons pod of a Destroyer. It would be a simple enough manoeuvre to let his Axe-Blade gently drift towards the tear-drop and then take station behind it.
Using the electro-magnetic engine very sparingly would not create a signal strong enough for the Alliance scanners to detect, unless, of course, they were searching for active Axe-Blade fighters in the area. The Alliance wouldn’t be looking for him yet, at least that’s what he considered, as he gently pushed the throttle wheel forward half a notch and waited for the gentle movement to begin pushing him towards the tear-drop. It would take only a few seconds to move from one cover to the next, but, in those seconds, he would be at his most vulnerable. A stray Eagle patrol, or an unlucky reflection from one of the smaller pieces of metal debris could register on an Alliance scanner, and he would be discovered. Using the full range of vision afforded by the bubble canopy of his Axe-Blade, the pilot kept a wary eye for any unusual or rapid movements in the slowly drifting debris field.
This is where the three fools threw away their Frontier Fleets trying to break through Caudwell’s trap at the Calyx Wormhole, the pilot shuddered at the loss of so many fine ships.
That hundreds of thousands of ordinary Ganthoran personnel had also died was something that did not impinge on the consciousness of the pilot. The Frontier Fleets would never be the same again after this disaster. Gently, he applied a little throttle to slow down his momentum as he reached the partial safety of the tear-drop. Slowly, the Axe-Blade fighter slowed to a halt, and took station next to the weapons pod that was still attached to part of the extending arm it had been mounted on. The pilot, his nerves taut and frayed, scanned the debris field for any movement, and found nothing out of the ordinary. Relaxing for a moment, he was suddenly startled by a loud thump on the rear of the bubble canopy of his fighter. Looking round, the pilot was horrified to be met with the sight of the spread-eagled form of a dead Frontier Fleet soldier clinging to the canopy. For a few seconds, his mind was overwhelmed with panic, and the feeling that he was about to throw up or scream. His heart raced like a runaway Destroyer, and his breathing increased to an alarming rate.
The dark-grey, frozen face of the corpse was contorted in a mask of terror and agony. With its yellow teeth bared and wide, frozen, bulging eyes, the pilot thought, for one brief moment, that the corpse was screaming to him for help. But the soldier in the silver-grey Frontier Fleet uniform was beyond any kind of help that even the vaunted Universal Alliance Medical Officers could give. With a deft flick of the attitude control, the pilot adjusted the angle of the Axe-Blade, which dislodged the corpse. Within a few moments, the spread-eagled corpse was drifting away from the Axe-Blade, back into the debris field. The pilot watched the lifeless form slowly tumble and spin away from the Axe-Blade, out into the vast debris field and the depths of eternity.
It took several minutes for the pilot to regain his composure before searching out his next piece of cover.
The hulking remains of a Ganthoran Cruiser would allow him to make a course to the edge of the debris field, and from there, he could drift until he was clear of the warship graveyard. Afterwards, he would then have to risk the dash into open space and the Bardomil frontier.
Feeling calmer, the pilot gently touched the throttle wheel once again and slowly guided the Axe-Blade towards the remains of the shattered Cruiser. The pilot gently nursed the drifting fighter into the shadow of the Cruiser’s bulk, conveniently forgetting that the soft and sentimental Alliance creatures had left him the cover he needed to make good his escape. Once he was in the shadow of the battered Cruiser, the pilot touched the throttle once again and zipped nimbly to the rear of the stricken vessel. Now, it was going to be a case of drifting to the edge of the debris field, before making a dash for the frontier. Carefully, he adjusted the pitc
h and attitude of the fighter to allow it to drift in the general direction of the Bardomil frontier.
Then, with one final gentle touch of the throttle, the pilot allowed the Axe-Blade to drift from the shadow of the Cruiser. With his hands on the attitude controls to prevent the Axe-Blade from spinning as it drifted, the pilot slumped forward in the bubble canopy. If an Alliance Eagle did become curious of the drifting Axe-Blade, the Alliance pilot would see a dead Ganthoran at the controls, and, hopefully, leave the fighter to drift out into space.
With his hands on the attitude controls, and one eye watching the scanner screen, the pilot spent what felt like an eternity drifting away from the shadow of the Cruiser and the debris field towards the Bardomil frontier. Making the necessary minor adjustments to the pitch controls, he avoided the larger chunks of debris that were strewn in his path to possible survival and safety. The tiny fragments of debris rattled against the bubble canopy of the fighter, making a rustling, clicking, and whooshing sound that made the pilot fear for the integrity of the cockpit. And, as he watched the dark green, oval scanner screen, he willed the patrolling Alliance Eagles not to follow him or show any interest. Minute after minute passed, in what seemed like hours for the pilot, whilst the Axe-Blade fighter drifted beside the small pieces of detritus that populated the fringes of the debris field. With his heart hammering in his chest, and fearing discovery with every passing second, he kept his head down and his body limp to fool any passing Eagle pilot.
When the last piece of debris had disappeared from in front of canopy, the pilot knew that he had cleared the debris field. Then, with a deep breath, he gently pushed the throttle wheel forward, and slowly increased the fighter’s speed. Murmuring gently to himself the pilot willed and pleaded with the Alliance fighters not to notice or follow him. The seconds that slowly passed without the Alliance eagles giving chase and blowing him to oblivion with their low-yield pulsar-cannon became minutes. And, as he continued to put greater and greater distance between himself and the debris field, the pilot increased the speed of the Axe-Blade fighter. Watching the scanner screen, the debris field quickly receded into the distance as the fighter dashed for the Bardomil frontier.
With another relieved sigh, the pilot opened the throttle up to full speed. It would take ten minutes to reach the Bardomil frontier at full speed, and every one of those minutes were like a lifetime of terror and anxiety for the pilot. But, somehow, the Alliance frontier patrols failed to notice the small Axe-Blade fighter streaking away from Ganthoran space.
And, it was around fifteen minutes later, that the small Ganthoran Axe-Blade made contact with a patrol of eight Bardomil single-seat Harpoon fighters. The nose of the Bardomil Harpoon fighter, rather than the sharp triangular point of a traditional arrowhead, was gently curved like the head of a harpoon. The curved point swept over a flat, gentle curve to two gently inwardly curved wings. A clear hemispherical canopy above the main body of the Harpoon provided the pilot with the all around vision needed to operate successfully in a fighter- on-fighter dog fight. Forming the “shaft” and main fuselage of the Harpoon was a curved, conical shape that tapered to the rear of the fighter and housed the single engine and the venting chamber for the waste products of propulsion.
With a great deal of fear and trepidation, the pilot activated the Communication Network and tuned into the Bardomil military frequency. But, before he could speak, the Bardomil leading pilot broke the silence of the Axe-Blade’s cockpit.
“Ganthoran fighter...Ganthoran fighter...You have trespassed into the territory of the Bardomil Empire...You will disengage your weapons, and return to Ganthoran space immediately. If you fail to comply, you will be destroyed...do you understand?” the harsh military Bardomil voice demanded.
“Bardomil fighter...Bardomil fighter,” the pilot began his response, “this is General Avavid Kallet of the Ganthoran Frontier Fleet...I wish to apply to the Bardomil Empire for sanctuary and political asylum....”
Epilogue: Ganthus City
The shadowy figure sat in the heavy, angry silence of his darkened office.
The twin moons of Ganthus hung silently in the clear, darkened evening sky; Chronos and Rubicos held their eternal sentry-like positions watching over the lives and affairs of the Ganthoran people. The pale-blue light from the more distant Chronos shone down through the windows of the shadowy figure’s office. The floor-to-ceiling office window was made up of large panes, almost four-feet square, divided from each other by broad, metallic bands. With a window space of almost forty feet wide, the shadow cast by the lattice of window panes onto the soft, luxuriant dark-blue flooring resembled that of a prison cage.
Outside the office windows, the Celebration Light Show for the new Emperor had just begun. The myriad of colours and shapes danced, and weaved, and swooped across the dark sky and the brightly coloured buildings of Ganthus City. It was night time, and the twin moons shone brightly in the darkened sky. The light displays bounced and danced a myriad of celebratory colours in the lower atmosphere. There would be a new Emperor tomorrow. He was just about to finish his Ganthoran brandy and join the other dignitaries on the upper level to view the light display, when two figures passed through his office door, unannounced and unbidden.
They were both in Universal Alliance uniform. One wore the black overall of their Landing Troopers; a tall, powerful, and intimidating brute. The Landing Trooper wore his silvered visor down, obscuring the upper three quarters of his face. He knew they were tough, single-minded, and quite ruthless. The elite of the Ganthoran Imperial Guard would last less than two minutes against these “Dark Devils”, as many in the Ganthoran military had christened them. The green uniform was dwarfed by his Landing Trooper companion; by a good head and shoulders, but he had that unmistakable air of authority and confidence that these Alliance officers possessed. There was no doubt in his mind about who would be issuing the orders with this pair. It took a few moments for him to recognise the young bow-legged Thexxian that he had previously noticed only briefly amongst the Alliance contingent. The Thexxian had been of no apparent significance, so his staff had briefly investigated his status and reported that he was a minor administrator.
Now, standing in his office, he noticed the sharp, pink eyes of Karap Sownus, and began to sense that perhaps his indifference to this Thexxian had been a major error.
“You won’t mind if we come in, Adjudicator?” The Thexxian clasped his hands behind his back, knowing that his tone did not broach any form of refusal.
“Gentlemen.” Adjudicator Arrad smoothly rose from his chair and out of the shadows. “May I offer you a brandy?” He lifted the long sleeve of his light blue official robe with his right hand to hold the orb-like decanter from its circular pedestal.
“No.” The green-clad Sownus responded calmly, adding the polite “thank you” as almost an afterthought.
“And, how may I help you gentlemen this evening?” Arrad smiled nonchalantly.
“We are here at the request of His Majesty, the Emperor,” the Thexxian’s gaze never left the Adjudicator’s face.
“And how may I serve His Imperial Majesty?” Arrad smiled, pouring himself another large measure of the fiery Ganthoran brandy.
“We’ve come to talk to you about Captain Branthus,” Sownus said.
“Branthus?” Arrad had no edge of nervousness or recognition in his voice. “I believe that he’s a minor Captain or something on General Kallet’s Staff....”
“Well, yes, you are correct Adjudicator, he was actually General Kallet’s nephew,” the Thexxian replied calmly.
“Really? His nephew, now that is a surprise!” Arrad exclaimed in mock surprise. “Treason obviously runs deeply in some families...shocking business.”
“Yes, indeed, Adjudicator.” The Thexxian smiled insincerely. “Which is why we have come to speak to you this evening.”
“What!? Speak to me!?” Arrad snorted, being careful not to drop his glass. “Surely, you cannot suspect me of involvement in the t
reason against His Majesty!?”
The young Adjudicator was confident that he had covered his tracks effectively, but it had still slightly shocked him to realise that these Alliance officers would even suspect him of involvement in the rebellion.
They have to be bluffing, Arrad considered, they’re testing me, all I have to do is tough it out.
“No, Adjudicator, we don’t suspect you of involvement.” The Thexxian smiled smoothly.
“Well, I should think so....” Arrad began to relax slightly, and was immediately cut short by the Thexxian.
“No, Adjudicator Arrad, we know exactly how you were involved, right down to the last...little...detail!” The Thexxian slowed his last two words for emphasis and produced a red folio folder from behind his back.
“Oh, and, what do you think you have there, Officer...?” Arrad fished for the Thexxian’s name, using all of his years of diplomatic skill not to show any emotion or surprise at his allegations.
“Sownus.” The Thexxian gave Arrad a short, curt bow from the neck. “Senior Intelligence Officer Karap Sownus...and I have in this folder all the evidence required to sentence you and your entire adopted family to death.”
Senior Intelligence Officer, the words rang every alarm bell in Arrad’s mind.
“That is sheer nonsense, Officer Sownus. I have no association with the traitors other than in my role as a loyal Adjudicator in the Time Warrior ritual, and through governing the Empire!! Why would I wish to associate myself with the traitors!?” Arrad blustered, and leaned forward in his seat to set down his brandy glass.
“Power, Adjudicator Arrad, the most intoxicating motive of them all...power,” Sownus said calmly. “Specifically, the Crystal Throne of Ganthus.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Officer Sownus!” Arrad responded sharply. “To gain the Throne of Ganthus, I would have to complete the Time Warrior ritual. And, as an Adjudicator, I am legally barred from participating, and in case you had not noticed, Officer, I am not a Frontier General!”
The Ganthoran Gambit (The First Admiral Series) Page 27
