The Sword and the Plough Read online

  The captain sighed. “Okay, it seems like we’ve got no other choice. We’ve got to keep the postern gate as our escape route.” He glanced round at the others. “The front gate it is then.”

  He leaned back in his chair and fanned his face with Caroline’s plan of the fort. “Damn, is it always this hot here?” he asked, directing his question at Lars.

  Lars grinned. “It will get hotter,” he said.

  The captain laughed. “Yeah? Well that’s nice to know.”

  He got to his feet and went over to the window. Caroline and the lieutenant went over the plan again; Caroline adding an extra detail or two as she remembered them.

  The captain studied the landscape outside the window.

  “This black rock planet of yours sort of grows on you after a while, doesn’t it?” he murmured to no one in particular.

  Lars came over and stood beside him. “It’s in your blood when you’re born here,” he said. “But it’s nice to hear an outsider say he feels something too.”

  “It’s the colours, I guess,” the captain explained. “They appear startling at first, they’re so bright – compared to Earth, I mean. But after a while, as you get used to it, the contrasts become rather attractive; the soil is so black, the greens greener, the sky bluer. I guess it’s those twin suns of yours. They make everything look so vibrant…so much more alive…” He broke off abruptly and laughed. “Ah, just listen to me. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

  “Don’t apologise, please,” Lars said quietly. “I’ve never heard it said better.”

  The captain smiled. “Does that make me an honorary Trionian?”

  “It sure does,” Lars replied with a grin. “And who knows, we might even make an ‘outworlder’ of you one day.”

  “What about you, Cheryl?” Captain Johnny asked. “Is this place growing on you, too?”

  “What?” The lieutenant looked up from the plan. “Oh, I haven’t had time to think about it.” She gave a shrug. “I don’t know – yeah possibly.”

  * * *

  Hakim returned late in the afternoon. His face was dripping with sweat and his movements slow as he climbed down stiffly from his plough.

  “Well?” Lars brows arched in question.

  Hakim shook his head. “I need a drink first,” he croaked.

  He dusted off his field pants with his coolie hat and sat down wearily at the table. His white field clothes from the morning were now a mottled grey and saturated with sweat.

  The others stood round the table, expectant looks on their faces.

  The glass of ice-cold water the lieutenant poured him disappeared in a few short gulps – a second likewise. The third he sipped more slowly.

  After a moment or two, the Trionian leaned back in his chair and glanced round at the four intent faces looking down at him. He sighed, picked up the glass again and took another mouthful.

  “Hakim!” Caroline spoke for them all. “Don’t you dare keep us in suspense any longer.”

  The Trionian saw their mood and realised it was not the occasion for humour.

  “Okay, okay!” he said beaming and lifting his hands in surrender. “You’ll get your farmer army. They’ve been pushed around for long enough, so they’re spoiling for a fight, and you lot showed them how to start one.”

  Five excited faces grinned at one another.

  “The word’s gone out,” Hakim continued. “By tomorrow night, I doubt there’ll be a regular plough anywhere on the planet.”

  Captain Johnny grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “Well done, old man,” he said. “Well done.”

  “You’re a real gem, Hakim,” Caroline added, bending down to kiss him on the cheek.

  The Trionian grinned up at Lars. “I ain’t denying it,” he murmured happily.

  “Did you find out who’s in charge of the Megran forces?” the lieutenant asked quietly.

  Hakim nodded. “Yeah, I did. Ah, a major – no, a general somebody or other…”

  “His name, Hakim – his name!” the lieutenant insisted.

  “General… General…” His brows knitted. “What was it? I did hear. General… General York. That’s right, General York. How’s that for memory?”

  For a second or two, the curly headed Trionian did not understand the sudden silence in the room.

  * * *

  The boy was coming over. Commander Usha Sinha blew a strand of raven hair from her face and swept it back behind a small brown ear. She was wearing a ruby topped gold stud.

  “Ma’am?” The boy was standing at attention beside her bridge chair.

  “Yes Riddick?”

  “I’ve been running sensor scans on our projected course every ten minutes as you instructed ma’am – and,” he hesitated slightly. “I think there’s something out there, in The Jupiter Trojans.”

  Usha was instantly alert. “Hostiles do you mean, Riddick? Do you suspect an ambush?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “How far?”

  “Some ways yet, ma’am.”

  The commander dipped her head in acknowledgement. She knew her crew well. The boy had passed out top of his course. He had been an A grade student all through his time at the Academy.

  She pressed the speaker switch on the bridge chair arm.

  “All ships. This is Commander Sinha. Stand-by to go to hostile alert.”

  She turned back to the boy. “Right Riddick, what co-ordinates do we have?”

  He gave an uncertain smile. “None as yet, ma’am.”

  “What?” she huffed. Several of the bridge crew glanced up. “What are you thinking? You want me to put six ships on hostile alert. If we divert power to shields and decoy transmissions, we’ll reduce our speed to a crawl.”

  The boy studied the floor. His cheeks flushed pink.

  Usha’s voice softened. “Come on son, I’m not going to bite your head off.”

  The boy took a deep breath. “Something doesn’t add up, ma’am, at least not to me. There are areas in the Trojans that don’t seem clear enough – as if our scanners are being made to see something other than they’re supposed to… I can…” His voice faltered. “I can feel it.”

  “Feel it?” The entire bridge crew was aware of them now. “Damn it, Riddick. You’re working with the most up-to-date equipment in the queen’s space force and you have the nerve to tell me that you feel it?”

  The boy looked suddenly tired. His pink flush had deepened to a cherry red. Tears of embarrassment were welling in his eyes. Then his chin lifted and for one brief instant, his gaze became defiant.

  “Yes ma’am. But I know they’re out there. It doesn’t matter what the scanner says, I just know it.”

  “Damn it!” The commander’s fingers beat a sharp tattoo on the bridge chair arm. “We’re on a wartime mission. We’re fast and hard hitting, it would take a battleship to stop us, and yet you want us to crawl along like lame ducks, because you – feel it?”

  The boy said nothing, but his shoulders sagged and his eyes sought the floor once more.

  Usha Sinha looked past the boy into the blackness that was space. From her chair, she could see the faint radiance of a million stars, the light from some far older than humankind itself. What she could not see the ship’s scanners saw for her.

  She did not understand what the boy saw, nor was there any way she could verify what he felt. Instead, she remembered the faces of her children, saw their dark eyes gleaming, saw her husband’s trusting smile…

  “Well done, Riddick,” she whispered to the boy still frozen in his stooped stance. “I believe you. We will go to hostile alert and commence concealment and shielding procedures.”

  Her small brown finger pressed the speaker switch on the bridge chair arm.

  “All ships. All ships. This is Commander Sinha. Go to hostile alert. I repeat. Go to hostile alert.”

  * * *

  “Commander?”

  Commander Riddick opened his eyes. “Yes, Number One?”

  He
had dozed off in his bridge chair, but was instantly awake.

  “Sensor scans coming in, sir.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing out there yet, sir.”

  The commander gave a nod. “Very good, Number One – thank you. Oh, and by the way…”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Increase the scan rate to five minute intervals, and send a signal to all captains – maintain sensor deflectors and decoy transmissions operating until further notice.”

  Gregor Lipinski grinned at his chief. “The longer we stay out of sight the better, eh sir?”

  “Indeed!” his commander acknowledged.

  Commander Riddick closed his eyes, but did not doze again. His mind was jumping wildly from thought to thought. Was there anything he had overlooked?

  Chapter 30

  Fort Vegar revisited

  “How much farther is it?” Captain De Vries asked, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow.

  It was just after dawn, but the heat was already on the rise. The black lava gravel road stretched ahead of them, a straight black stripe between lush fields of green.

  They were walking in pairs, prisoners in front and guards behind, along the road leading to Fort Vegar. Caroline and Lars were clad in dirt grey field worker’s attire; Lieutenant York and Captain De Vries were in the queen’s red, their comb morions gleaming, reflecting the early morning rays of Trion’s twin suns.

  Lars turned round. “You getting sore feet already, Johnny?” he queried with a grin. “I thought the queen’s soldiers were supposed to be good at marching.”

  Caroline laughed. “Don’t pay him any attention, Johnny. It’s not that far now, another kilometre or so. We should see the fort over the next rise. With a bit of luck we’ll catch them still in bed.”

  “Thank the stars,” the captain muttered. These uniforms weren’t made for this climate.” He snapped a command. “Okay, let’s make it good for the last kilometre.”

  The Trionians played their part and slouched along, backs bent, eyes downcast. The two queen’s officers stiffened their step, their heads held high, their light-bolt rifles shouldered.

  Hakim and another farmer had brought them as close as they dared by plough. There had been no other traffic on the road and no one had seen the subdued farewell of new friends and old. ‘We won’t let you down’, was the last thing Hakim had said before they parted.

  “Johnny?” The lieutenant had suddenly stopped a few paces back behind the others. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

  She was staring out across the green fields, her eyes troubled.

  “Come on, Cheryl, I can’t leave the prisoners,” the captain joked. “Who knows what the Trionian’s will get up to if I relax my guard.”

  “Johnny, it’s important.” Cheryl York’s voice was edgy.

  “Very well,” he said. “Prisoners halt!”

  He turned on his heel and dropped back beside the lieutenant.

  “Right Cheryl, what is it?”

  “Johnny, I’m worried. I should never have come on this mission. I’m putting you all at risk.”

  Her military bearing had slumped and her eyes were moist.

  The captain put out a hand and touched her arm. “Oh come on, Cheryl, we went through all this last night. You weren’t to know he’d be here on Trion. He could just as likely been on any of the other conquered planets.”

  “But he is here!”

  “But he doesn’t have to be at the fort. Your father’s the Megran general in charge of all the forces on Trion. He could be anywhere on this planet. The chances of you bumping in to him are a million to one. Well… ten to one, at least.”

  “But Johnny, I know it. I have this dread feeling. What if he recognises me? What if we end up face to face?”

  He took her hands in his. “Cheryl, generals never know one junior officer from another. It’s as though they don’t exist.”

  Cheryl’s words now came in a rush. “What say I give myself up? Tell him I’m alone. Pretend I came to join him as he asked. Make believe we could be father and daughter again. I might be able to sabotage things at the fort once the main attack begins…”

  The captain shook his head. “He’d never believe you. And then he’d come looking for us.

  “Cheryl, remember you’re a soldier first. I need you here, beside me, today. There are just the two of us and a bunch of untrained civilians against a Megran army.” He gave a grin. “Not bad odds I’m forced to admit, but the odds against us will be even higher if you’re not with me.”

  The lieutenant bit her lip and pondered his words, her blue eyes clouded. Her caution, her concern, she believed, made good sense. Then again, her duty was to the military…That was who she was…

  At length she nodded. “Yes, I apologise. You are right,” Her shoulders lifted and her jaw line stiffened. “We are officers of Her Majesty the Queen. We have our mission…”

  * * *

  “Halt!”

  There were two sentries at the fort’s gate, Megran troopers masquerading in the queen’s red. One stepped forward, his rifle held across his chest, barring their way. He was young, fair-haired, with the beginnings of a beard, and wearing a red uniform much too big for him, so that his hands had almost disappeared up the sleeves.

  “Well, here we go,” the captain muttered beneath his breath.

  The sentry glanced only briefly at the officer rank insignia on the two red uniforms. Megran troopers were wearing every sort of royal uniform at present, whatever had survived the battle. It was just luck what you’d bagged. All that counted was the queen’s red. He let his gaze rest on Caroline and Lars instead.

  “Who are they?” he asked, casting a nod at the prisoners. “More trouble makers?” His eyes wandered over Caroline and he grinned. “Nice to see another woman coming in,” he said, giving an exaggerated wink. “Makes for a pleasant change.”

  “Trooper!” The captain’s voice was dangerously quiet. “I wear the rank insignia of a captain because I’ve earned it. “I’ll give you just three seconds to complete the challenge.”

  The sentry’s smirk disappeared and he snapped to attention. “Yes sah!” he bawled, and then, “who goes there?”

  “Captain De Vries and Lieutenant York with two prisoners,” the captain answered. “Lost a motor on our hover-barge halfway out from town and had to walk it.”

  “Thank you, sir. Oh, and the password, sir?”

  The captain scowled. “A little late for that, isn’t it sentry?” he huffed. “If we’d been the enemy, you’d have been burned away by now.”

  “Yes sir. Sorry sir!” The sentry stepped aside shamefaced, ears and cheeks reddening. “Do you require an escort for your prisoners, sir?” he asked, trying to gain lost ground with the officer.

  The captain feigned a more forgiving tone. “No need trooper, we know our way. Carry on with your duty.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The trooper watched them go. Of all the luck to stop a real officer. He glared at his fellow sentry’s grinning face and jerked a stiff middle finger in sharp reply.

  * * *

  The interior of the fort, an area about the size of an Olympic stadium, was bustling with activity and noise. Megran troopers in battle green were everywhere, engaged in every military chore ever devised.

  The subterfuge of the queen’s red was evident only along the ramparts, where the Megrans were visible to outsiders.

  Captain De Vries halted his little group and waited a moment as a column in green with shouldered rifles marched stiffly past, their sergeant bellowing his displeasure at their effort.

  Johnny De Vries cast an eye around the black stone ramparts, noting the number of counterfeit red clad troopers manning the light-bolt cannons along the crenellated battlements.

  “Nice reception party waiting for someone,” he muttered grimly.

  He noted too, the many rows of horses parked inside the courtyard, the deadly silver machines gleaming in the sunlight.

  �
��There must be over a hundred horses,” he muttered to the lieutenant. “And from Lars told us, maybe as many more in the camp outside the town.”

  The lieutenant’s gaze had followed his. “Yes, it’s almost like they’re expecting trouble,” she said with a frown. “Maybe they’ve got spies among the locals.”

  “About seventy-five metres to the keep, comrades,” the captain said in a low voice. “Stay calm. Remember, we look the part.”

  “Seventy-five metres?” Lars muttered, staring at the tall, defensive black stone tower at the fort’s hub. “It looks much farther.”

  * * *

  They crossed the open ground to the keep without incident, though some curious glances trailed their passage.

  “There, nothing to it,” the captain said with a grin as they entered the dark circular interior at the base of the keep, “Not even one close relative by the name of York.”

  “It’s not over yet,” the lieutenant reminded him with an uneasy smile.

  The four glanced round the dark walled chamber. On their left, a flight of stairs led upward to the various levels of the keep above. On their right, the black tunnel opening that led down to the dungeons in the bowels of the castle.

  The captain nodded to Lars. “Okay my friend, it’s time. I’ve sent a message to the admiralty. Now, it’s over to us.”

  Lars brought the wrist communicator up to his mouth. His lips were dry. “We’re in, Hakim,” he whispered. “Give it all you’ve got old friend… and good luck.”

  They stood staring down the tunnel entrance, adjusting their vision for the dark beneath.

  “Okay, it won’t be long now,” the captain said. “The fun’s about to start.”

  * * *

  It began faintly at first, a hiss, like some denizen of the deep slowly awakening. Then the monster moved, its hiss erupting to a growl. One hundred ploughs, Hakim had said. Two hundred and more farmers turned soldiers; farmers who had come to rescue friends and loved ones; farmers who had come to take back what had been theirs.