The Gallant (Star Legend Book 3)

by J. J. Green

  Devon’s jaw muscle worked as he sat next to Hans, cracking his knuckles. “We pushed too hard,” he muttered. “We said too much too soon.”

  He was right. He’d hit the nail on the head. The Alliance’s attitude toward its territories and protectorates was paternalistic. It would not stand for its dependents getting ‘uppity’, and its feelings would take a long time to change. Hans could have brought about that change, over years, perhaps decades. But the opportunity had been denied him.

  If only the Royal Marines’ major had delivered his message. The ministers and military chiefs would have known he was playing a game, stringing the Jamaicans along, that he was working to bring them into the fold. Those men and women of the BA Government were used to subterfuge and artifice. They would have understood, nodded and smiled, knowing what it all meant. They would have agreed to support Jamaica.

  Everything had hung on that message.

  “Barbados caved yesterday,” Charles announced.

  “They did?” asked Devon. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, they accepted the BA’s terms. What choice did they have? They’re worse off than we are.”

  “The Bahamas will be next,” said Devon.

  Charles didn’t reply, his features cloudy.

  Then he blurted, “We’ll be last in line, begging for scraps. And it’s down to him!” He jabbed a finger at Hans.

  “Charles,” Devon demurred, “Hans has always tried to help us.”

  “No, he hasn’t. He’s always tried to help himself. He was the one speaking out at the meeting. He was the one—”

  “He was standing up for Jamaicans. Mariya believed in him.”

  “Yes. And look where that got her.”

  “You can’t blame him for her death. She was killed by a Crusader, and the raid on the EAC headquarters wasn’t even his idea.”

  Hans was touched by Devon’s loyalty. Touched—and ashamed. Though it was hard to admit to himself, he knew he didn’t deserve it. He’d always been self-serving, thinking only of himself and his grand plan for the Alliance, prepared to sacrifice everyone else to his schemes. Mariya had known it. She’d been smart. She’d seen through him, but she’d allowed him to pretend he was devoted to Jamaica because he could be useful.

  He put a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Thank you for sticking up for me. I appreciate it, my friend.”

  Charles scowled.

  Hans rose to his feet. “I agree we’re at somewhat of an impasse with the Alliance. Extricating ourselves without conceding too much will take some delicate negotiating, which requires careful planning. I don’t want to be rude, but I need some time alone. Time to gather my thoughts and figure out the best way to proceed.”

  “Hmpf,” said Charles. “His Lordship is dismissing us. Let’s go, Devon.”

  As Devon drained his drink, Charles went on, “We’ll be back in the morning to hear your ideas about what we do next. They’d better be good ones, and they’d better get us a fast solution to the crisis.”

  Or what? Hans wondered.

  The two Jamaicans descended the wooden steps.

  “See you tomorrow, Hans,” said Devon.

  “See you then, Devon, Charles.”

  The latter didn’t reply. A few moments later, Mariya’s car pulled out of the driveway onto the mountain road.

  Hans went inside the villa. Surveying the expansive space, now sparsely filled with the detritus of his former life as Head of SIS, he took stock. His possessions had been whittled down to almost nothing.

  What would he need?

  He walked to his bedroom. At the bottom of one of the wardrobes was a large, canvas bag. He took it out, opened it on his bed, and began to pack. When he’d filled the base with the few clothes he owned, he placed an interface on top of them.

  He went to the kitchen. There, he gathered packets of dry food, snacks, candy bars, and two large, plastic bottles of water. After a brief hesitation, he also picked up a knife. Returning to his bedroom, he put the knife and all the provisions in his bag.

  From his bathroom, he took a bag of toiletries and a comb.

  He returned to the veranda. His driveway remained empty. No cars were passing on the road. The mountainside was quiet. No one was about.

  Going into the bathroom once more, he lowered the lid on the toilet and climbed onto it. He pushed up a ceiling tile, and groped blindly in the space above. His fingers brushed cloth. Grasping it, he dragged a large pouch closer. It was heavy and resisted his pull. When it reached the hole, he lifted it down carefully.

  He sat on the toilet lid, loosened the pouch’s strings, and examined its contents. Gold, platinum, and jewels glinted at him. It was a fortune, enough to buy several villas.

  Hans had never considered himself materialistic, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned from the experiences of his immigrant ancestors. The wisdom to always keep a portion of your wealth portable, in case of emergencies, had been passed down through the generations. His family had never belonged to the privileged elite, they’d never enjoyed the sense of certainty about the future that came from being a member of the inner circle, but in this case, it had saved him.

  He tied the strings of the pouch and tucked it into a corner of his bag.

  What else?

  He only needed three more things. He crossed his bedroom to a set of drawers. From the top drawer, he took a photograph, a silver necklace, and a small ceramic pot.

  “You’re coming with me, my dear,” he murmured.

  He was ready to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lorcan seethed as he sat in his shuttle, taking the long trip to Earth. Iolani had insisted on coming with him to the Kamboto Mine. She’d threatened to abandon the Project, taking Camilla and Anders with her, and tell the media all about her kidnapping if he refused to allow her to come along.

  You can hardly expect me to trust you after everything you’ve done, she’d said.

  He would have to go to the mine and sort out the child labor problem with her in tow, scrutinizing his every move. Worse, with her accompanying him, he couldn’t in good conscience take any security or support people with him. The association with what he’d done to her would be too great. So it would be just the two of them.

  He rued the day he’d set foot inside her house in Suriname, eager to meet the great Iolani Hale. She and her damned dogs had become the bane of his existence. If only he could turn back time. Given the chance, he would choose to never go to see her, or at least leave her alone in her jungle hermitage.

  But then he might never have discovered the flaws in the Project. He had to concede his experiences with Hale might have prevented a catastrophic disaster and tragedy.

  Possibly.

  It was certainly better to be safe than sorry.

  And then, there was Camilla Lebedev. Without Hale’s interference, he would never have come to know her.

  The only positive side to making the journey to the surface with Hale was that Camilla had decided to accompany them. She would spend a few days visiting family and friends, and then she would return with them to the Bres when they’d finished their business at the mine.

  “I remember the last time I was aboard this shuttle,” Hale remarked to her friend, seated next to her across the aisle from Lorcan. “I think it was this one, wasn’t it?” she asked him.

  He gritted his teeth and didn’t answer.

  “It was an uncomfortable ride,” Hale remarked.

  “Was it?” asked Camilla. “These seats are pretty comfy. It certainly makes a nice change from flying economy. That’s all funding institutions will ever pay for when I attend conferences. Cattle class travel and budget hotels.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Hale. “Last time I was here, I felt quite constricted.”

  “I’d hate to subject you to another uncomfortable voyage,” said Lorcan. “If you like, I can ask the pilot to take us back to the ship and you can disembark.”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t know wh
y, but this time around I feel much more free.”

  “Great,” Lorcan said between his teeth. “Why not get up and walk around a bit?” Right outside the airlock would be perfect.

  Perhaps noticing his tenseness, Camilla said, “I’m sure you’ll both sort out the mix-up at the mine quickly. It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

  “Huh!” said Iolani, sounding utterly unconvinced.

  “I’m confident it’s exactly that,” Lorcan said. “The AP’s hiring policies are very clear. I’m surprised they’re using human labor at all. Technology exists that can perform almost all tasks that used to be undertaken by miners.”

  “They’re using children because it’s cheaper,” said Iolani, as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world.

  “Cheaper than machines?” asked Lorcan. “I don’t think so.”

  Hale rolled her eyes. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

  Camilla coughed. “I’ll be glad to set foot on Terra firma again.”

  Lorcan pulled out ear buds from the receptacle in his arm rest and pushed them into his ears.

  USUALLY, WHEN LORCAN visited any of the many and various Project subsidiary companies, he would inform the relevant manager of his plans. This wasn’t out of consideration for the person, but simply because his time was precious. He didn’t want to waste it waiting around for the relevant person to be called in to speak to him or to provide access to secure areas. He had inspectors to check everything was running smoothly and conforming to the locality’s laws and regulations.

  This time, he would give no notice. Regardless of what he discovered, he would fire the team responsible for inspecting the Kamboto Mine. There was no question about that. But he’d held off on making any staffing changes because he didn’t want the manager to suspect something was up. He wanted to see the mine operating exactly as it did every day, when Ua Talman was not present to witness its transgressions.

  He’d hired a four-wheel drive at the airport nearest the mine. A tiny place with a landing strip only long enough for light aircraft and no pad for a space shuttle, it was nevertheless more than a hundred kilometers from their destination. With nothing more than small, poor villages en route, they would be forced to sleep in the car. The prospect did nothing to improve Lorcan’s feelings about Hale’s presence on the trip.

  She sat next to him in stoic silence as tens of kilometers of road passed beneath the car’s wheels.

  At first, he maintained the same attitude. He had no desire to even make small talk with her—he hated small talk at the best of times—let alone discuss anything important, like her work on the Bres or, heaven forbid, the unpleasant interactions they’d had.

  But, eventually, he couldn’t stand the monotony of nothing but the endless crunch of tires on dirt road any longer. Also, there was something about simply sitting next to her, neither of them speaking, that drove a spike into his conscience.

  “Iolani, I know this will probably sound hollow, but I honestly had no idea that children were being employed at the Kamboto Mine. All the Project’s subsidiaries have strict protocols to follow and standards to meet. If they fail in those regards, they’re dropped. I don’t know what went wrong at Kamboto, but I hope to find out. As a minimum, the mine will cease operation from the time of our arrival and will not start up again until these problems are rectified.”

  Some of the stiffness in her figure seemed to ease. She replied, “I appreciate it’s difficult for you to admit failure, but it isn’t me you should be telling all this to, it’s those children and their families.”

  “No, it’s important you hear it too. As to the people affected, in the case of any deaths or injuries, they will be fully compensated...”

  She tutted and shook her head. “That’s what it always comes down to with you, isn’t it? Money. You think money will solve everything.”

  “It doesn’t solve everything, but it goes a long way to helping. What would you have me do? I can’t change what’s happened.”

  “You can change what will happen, though. Look around, Lorcan. This is a poor country, full of poor people and a handful of very rich people who exploit everyone else. That’s why you ended up employing children. Do you think their parents don’t love them, and that’s why they allowed them to go down into a pit?”

  “I’m not responsible for the decisions of their parents. I can say with absolute certainty I would never have allowed—” He choked as long-buried emotions rushed to the surface.

  Hale glanced at him. She waited as he got himself under control.

  “These problems are complicated,” she conceded, “but unless people like you take them on, they’ll never be solved. Ripping precious resources out of the earth and permanently removing them from the planet by using what amounts to slave labor, isn’t the answer.”

  “That’s quite the burden you’d like to place on my shoulders,” said Lorcan. “The welfare of all humanity.”

  “You’re fond of saying the Project is humanity’s destiny. You’re happy enough to be responsible for that. The well being of others is a burden we should all shoulder, morally. If we aren’t prepared to help our fellow human beings, what’s the point? That’s what we’re about, isn’t it? That’s what civilization is—people helping each other.”

  “Civilization is about progress, improving the lot of your own people, your tribe, often to the detriment of others. That’s the natural order of things in human behavior. The Project is the inevitable result of billions of years of evolution.”

  Again, she shook her head. “If you think that, you don’t understand evolution. Human intelligence is not some pinnacle of achievement evolution trends toward. It’s only a chance outcome of natural selection. The time humans have existed is a mere blip in the history of life on Earth. Other species have been and continue to be far more successful than us in evolutionary terms. The jury is still out on whether intelligence alone is a marker for survival over the long term. Several times in the last few thousand years, we’ve come close to throwing ourselves back into the stone ages. For instance, look at what you’re doing.”

  His hands tightened into fists.

  Here we go again.

  “As well as depleting the planet of finite resources, the Project is destroying the environment wherever it operates. And for what? So you can build your ships, which, without intervention, would probably have become humankind’s largest cemeteries. If you want to argue that human evolution is moving in a particular direction, all the signs indicate it’s headed for self-annihilation. An evolutionary dead end.”

  Silence fell again. Lorcan just didn’t know what to say in reply.

  After a couple of minutes, Iolani added, “You’re in a unique position. You’re one of the very few people who can make a real difference. You have the power and authority to reverse the tide. Whether you decide to try, well, that’s up to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  With little hope of catching up to Taylan before she was on her way back to the Preseli Hills, Wright had decided to try to meet her as she returned. It would have made more sense to wait at the Resistance hideout, as the chances of finding someone who was trying to keep out of sight in the wilderness were small. But Merlin was confident they could do it.

  The plan was, if she agreed to come with them to the Gallant and take part in the third attempt to assassinate the Dwyr, they would cut across country to the coast and then work their way down to the rendezvous point for their passage back to Ireland.

  If she agreed to come with them.

  Wright wasn’t certain he wanted to try to persuade her. His sense of conviction about the mission was half-hearted at best.

  On their second day of travel, heading north across the rocky, rolling landscape, Arthur acted as he had when they’d drawn close to the Resistance hideout. He halted, his broad back straightening and his eyes narrowing as he surveyed their surroundings. He spoke to Merlin, using his first language. Wright hated it when they di
d that. He felt excluded, though he didn’t think it was deliberate, only that Arthur was more comfortable using his mother tongue.

  After a few sentences, back and forth, Arthur said to Wright, “I would like to make a small detour. I don’t think it will take us much out of our way.”

  “It may be beneficial in helping us find Taylan,” said Merlin. “Arthur is better than I at reading the land.”

  “Fine by me,” Wright replied, feeling he was increasingly losing control of the situation. But he didn’t know how to regain a hold on things. Arthur and Merlin were not Marines. They were like unstoppable forces, and he had no idea where they were leading him, the Alliance, or the planet.

  THE DETOUR WAS NOT as short as Arthur had predicted. They’d halted as the sun rose high, stayed hidden during most of the day, and traveled an hour into dusk before they found the place.

  The huge trees loomed dark in the fading light. They’d spotted them from higher ground a kilometer away. There were ten or twelve, standing in a circle. As they drew closer, their age became evident. The original trunks had died and hollowed, and side trunks had taken over the trees’ growth.

  Could they really have existed during Arthur’s time? Wright didn’t know if trees could live so long, but he guessed they could, or perhaps new trees had grown or been planted in the same place.

  They stepped through a gap between the massive branches, thick with dark green, needle-like leaves. In the center was a clearing, and in the middle of the clearing stood stone ruins, no higher than Wright’s waist. They reminded him of the little church in the Preseli Hills where Merlin had retrieved Arthur’s sword and armor from their hiding place.

  “Looks like this is it,” he said. “What do we do now?”

  “I’d like to stay here tonight,” said Arthur.

  “That’s it?” Wright asked. He’d been expecting the king or Merlin to say there was something else to find that had been hidden for thousands of years.

  “That’s all,” said Arthur. “Just one night.”