The Sword and the Plough Read online

  Who was she? What’s more, who were the men? Ever since he could remember, Lars had known the scarlet uniform of the good queen’s soldiers; he knew of no other. But these men were clad in the green garb of some alien world; the negative of the royal red. Their armour, helm and cuirass, were black. Big Meredith light-bolt pistols hung at their hips.

  Lars knew the Meredith handgun. That much was familiar. He had fired one at a military recruitment exhibition at Fort Vegar only the year before, when he had briefly considered the army as an alternative occupation to farmer. For its size, the Meredith was a weapon of formidable destructive power, the mainstay of the various infantries throughout the Commonwealth.

  Lars crouched lower, viewing what he could through a blackened tangle of twisted steel. They were closer now, no farther than twenty metres and coming his way.

  All at once, the young woman lifted her head and began to struggle frantically. Through a tumble of auburn hair, Lars saw an oval face of such beauty, he gasped out loud.

  She was somewhere near his own age, he guessed. Against the two burly troopers, her small stumbling figure looked almost childlike. He looked about urgently for a better place to hide.

  Suddenly, the young woman let out a scream of rage and kicked out wildly. Her small foot connected with the shin of one of the troopers. The man howled in anger, and swung his free hand in a slap that snapped her head back. The man’s companion uttered a scornful laugh.

  The young woman slumped and sagged in their grasp, stunned by the force of the blow. The troopers swore and hauled her upright.

  Lars did not think then, but leapt to his feet triggered by outrage at what he had witnessed. He charged down upon the nearest trooper.

  “Let her go!” he bellowed. He hauled his fist back and let loose with a mighty haymaker.

  It was a beautiful punch for Lars’s debut into fisticuffs. But the foreign soldier was combat trained. He brushed the untrained blow aside and slammed an iron fist into the young man’s belly.

  Lars doubled over and crumpled to the ground. His lungs battled to breathe. His will struggled to stand, but his limbs would not. Finally, he gasped out a moan, and managed to push himself to his knees.

  The trooper thrust the female prisoner at his companion. “Here!” he rasped. “Hold the mad bitch while I cuff this Trionian clown.” He unclipped the Meredith pistol at his hip. “Right scumbag; put your hands out behind you. Give me any trouble and I’ll burn your damn head off.”

  Lars extended his hands behind him. He heard the scratch of boots as the man stepped up to shackle him.

  “Damn Trionians!” the man muttered, standing over him.

  Lars felt his strength returning. He sucked in a breath. He shot to his feet.

  His rising shoulder caught the trooper in the chest, throwing the man off balance. In an instant, Lars was upon him, his fists flailing. The trooper howled with rage as the hail of blows battered him down. The Meredith pistol flew from his grasp and disappeared into the smoking rubble with a clatter.

  Lars now switched his attack to the second trooper, but his luck had already run out. The man reacted swiftly and shoved his prisoner into the young farmer’s path. Lars caught a glimpse of her startled look as she cannoned into him.

  Lars stumbled over the young woman and grabbed at the man. But the trooper was moving too fast. He caught the young man’s outstretched arm and ducked under it, wrenching it upward as he went. Lars could not help but cry out as his shoulder muscles threatened to tear apart.

  The alien troopers were in no mood for fair play. One now held Lars fast while the other drove in his fists at will. Blood flowed from the young man’s eyes, nose, and mouth. Shock and pain were his only awareness. Torment choked his mind.

  At last, his consciousness faded into blackness, and he slumped in his opponent’s grasp.

  They let him fall to the ground. He tried to roll away when the first boot came, but there was no escape. Explosions of pain ripped through him – agonising, relentless. His mind and body burned in the same inferno.

  After a while, he could no longer distinguish the troopers’ profanities and curses from his own grunts and groans. It was all one. Then, above it all, he heard the incongruous sound of a woman’s voice, distant and indistinct, as if from the bottom of a barrel.

  “Stop it! Stop it now! Or I’ll burn you both to ashes.”

  The kicking ceased. Lars struggled against his pain in an effort to haul himself clear of his tormenters, but he had not the strength.

  He heard a male voice answer the young woman. “Now miss, let’s not do anything stupid.”

  He tried to see what was happening, but it was as if a thick mist was beclouding his vision. He fingered his face, explored the sticky wet cuts, the painful contusions; discovered one eye already swollen, burning – closing…

  Lars managed to roll onto his back. The two troopers towered either side of him. He rubbed at his good eye. The mist cleared enough for him to see the troopers were sweating profusely from their recent exertion.

  He twisted his head painfully in the direction of their gaze and saw a blur of yellow gown and auburn hair.

  “Come on now, miss, give me that,” one of the troopers was saying. He was speaking quietly, patiently, as a teacher might speak to a recalcitrant child. He put out his hand. “Come on, miss. We mean you no harm.”

  The young woman was standing about five metres distant, a huge Meredith pistol gripped firm in both hands. The weapon seemed far too big for her petite grasp.

  The trooper who had spoken took a cautious step forward. His mouth displayed an improbable smile.

  “Stay back,” the young woman snapped. “And that’s my only warning.” The finned muzzle never wavered.

  “Look miss.” It was the same trooper speaking, this time making an appeal to reason. “You can’t get away with this. Your garrison’s finished. We’re in control now. Our troopers are everywhere. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

  But if the young woman was listening, she gave no sign.

  “Help him up!” she ordered, motioning the Meredith in Lars’s direction, her voice hard like a knife-edge on stone. “And don’t try anything foolish, I’m used to handling one of these.”

  The two troopers hauled Lars roughly to his feet. His will fought to stay upright. His legs wobbled like jelly.

  “Now leave him and go.” The pistol waved them away.

  The troopers stepped back a pace each, leaving Lars swaying like a sapling in a gale. But they did not go.

  Lars gazed at his saviour. Her long auburn hair was in a tangle, her gown a mess. But no matter her state, she looked like an angel.

  “Miss.” The second trooper spoke now, his tone low and wary. “You are the one being foolish. If we don’t take you in, you could be shot on sight.”

  No spoken answer came from the angel. Instead, the pistol bucked in her hands, and its hoarse bark filled the air. The ground between the trooper’s feet dissolved in a hiss of blinding light. He jumped back, his boots smoking from the closeness of the blast.

  “Go!” Her command was barely above a whisper, but both men heard and began to back away.

  The Meredith pistol growled again, its light-bolts melting a red-hot path along the ground toward them. As one, they turned and ran.

  Lars tried hard to stop himself from laughing, but it was no use. The sight of the two stalwart troopers in full flight was too much to ignore. The laughter caught him like a whip’s sharp crack in his sides. He grimaced and tried to wrap the pain in with his arms.

  “Are you all right?” The voice that spoke now was warm and gentle.

  Lars looked up and found himself gazing into the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen.

  The young woman brushed away the wisps of hair from her face with one hand; the Meredith pistol dangled casually from the other.

  “Are you all right?” she asked again with a concerned smile.

  Lars forgot his hurts and rev
elled in the warmth of her smile. Suddenly, it seemed he had always known her, loved her perhaps, though she was a complete stranger. He could not explain the feeling, save that it came from somewhere deep inside him.

  “Yeah, I’ll live – I think,” he replied. “Thanks for what you did.” He grinned ruefully. “Great hero I turned out to be. I guess you rescued me in the end. Not the other way round.”

  The hazel eyes regarded him sympathetically. “I could not have got free without you,” she said. “I think you were very brave, tackling those two men unarmed – indeed, you were heroic.”

  Lars noticed now for the first time that she spoke with a cut-glass Earth accent, educated and articulate, distinctly upper class.

  “I’m not very good at it though,” he commented wryly. “Another moment or two and they’d have broken every bone in my body. You stopped them just in time.”

  She smiled her wonderful smile again, this time revealing pearly white teeth, and cocked her head to one side to study him, the hazel eyes compassionate in their scrutiny. She opened her mouth as if to speak…

  All of a sudden, she frowned deeply and looked about her.

  “Right, well you had better get out of here as quickly as you can. Our nasty duo will no doubt be back here shortly with their friends. And you certainly gave one of them a pretty thorough beating.” She gave a nod of approval as she spoke.

  “Nothing to what he gave me.” Lars winced as he fingered a large swelling forming on the back of his head.”By the way,” he asked. “Who were they?”

  “Megran troopers, of course.”

  “Megran troopers? What are they doing here?”

  Lars knew, of course, that Megran was a major planet in the Earth Commonwealth of Planets, and therefore a ‘cousin’ to Trion, as it were, in the grand scheme of things. However, that in no way explained the presence of Megran troopers on Trionian soil.

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” the young woman replied. “Something very bad is happening and that villain Ferdinand is behind it, I’m sure.”

  “Ferdinand?” Lars echoed – confused.

  “Yes, Ferdinand, the governor of Megran – ‘Enlightened and Benevolent Ruler’ as he calls himself.” Her voice was bitter.

  “I take it you don’t like him then?” Lars said.

  She nodded, a faint smile rising. “You are quite correct there.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know much about politics,” Lars said.

  He looked so apologetic she laughed, sweet music to his ears.

  “Who does?” she replied.

  Then, abruptly, she was serious again and there was urgency in her tone.

  “Look, I have to go.” She extended her hand to him. “I’m Caroline …” she hesitated and then added “Just…Caroline.”

  Lars took her hand. It was firm and cool. “Lars – Lars Kelmutt,” he said.

  “Thank you once again then – Lars,” Caroline said. “I am most grateful.”

  She went to walk away.

  “I can’t let you go,” Lars started. “I mean, I can’t let you wander around like this, it’s far too dangerous. You said yourself those Megran troopers will be back, and a lot more of them besides. You’ll need help to get out of town.” It was all coming out in a rush. “I’ve got a plough hidden not too far outside the South Gate. You can stay with us – me and my sister.”

  The young woman studied Lars briefly, her look serious.

  “I am not leaving,” she said finally. “I need to get back to the Communication Centre.”

  “But that’s been destroyed!” Lars exclaimed, his outstretched palms gesturing his bafflement. “There’s nothing there.”

  “Yes I know,” Caroline began. She paused, as if uncertain whether to continue, and once again Lars was aware of her hazel eyes appraising him, assessing him. He did not object to her circumspection. There was a frankness about her that he admired. And he was sure her judgement of character was seldom wrong. He only hoped he would pass the test.

  “Please don’t ask how I know,” she said at length. “But there is a secret complex beneath the Communication Centre, which was built to survive just such an event as this. With luck, I should be able to get a deep space transmission out to somebody.”

  Again, her hazel eyes probed deep into his. “Please do not think me ungrateful for all you have done. I know you mean well. But it will be a lot safer for you if you leave – now.”

  She turned and began to move back to the bombed out ruins of the Centre holding the hem of her dress above the blackened and still smoking debris.

  Lars caught up with her in a couple of strides. “Please, I can’t let you handle this on your own, it’s too risky. I want to help.” He directed a nod at the Meredith pistol in her hand. “And perhaps you’d better let me look after that,” he said.

  “You realise we could both be shot?” Her gaze challenged his.

  Lars nodded. “I understand the risk,” he replied.

  “Right! But we will seem more innocent without this,” she said.

  She pulled the charge magazine from the pistol grip and sent it hurtling. Lars watched it arc through air and disappear with a rattle amid the smoking ruins. The pistol went in the opposite direction. Then she was on her way again, her hem held high.

  “So, who are we going to contact?” Lars asked.

  The young woman shot him an impatient glance. “Anyone on our side, of course,” she returned brusquely

  “Our side?” Lars repeated. “Whose side is that?”

  He knew his question might sound foolish, but she seemed to have answers to questions he didn’t even know to ask. Whose side was he on, he wondered? And who was on the other side?

  The young woman stopped and faced him. “Look!” she said grimly. “Those are Megran troopers out there – a whole army of them and these are not war games. The Royal garrison has been wiped out, almost to a man, civilians have been killed, property destroyed, and our governor and other officials taken prisoner. And those are just for starters. Who knows what other evils they have in mind. So, it is about time we had a little help – understand? There must be a Royal Space Patrol out there somewhere.”

  Lars nodded. “Do you think you can find this secret complex?”

  “Yes, I have instructions. Come on. The entrance is over here, in what used to be the executive offices.”

  They made their way cautiously further into the ruin. Small fires crackled about them, but the explosion had fulfilled its task well. There was little danger of falling wreckage; there was nothing significant of the structure left to fall. Black smoke smudged the air about them. It reeked in their nostrils and scratched at their throats.

  * * *

  The neo-concrete floor had been blackened by the blast, but seemed intact. However, there was nothing to suggest to Lars that there might be a secret installation beneath his feet. He began to wonder if the pretty, auburn haired young woman picking her way through the debris might not just be the victim of an overly vivid imagination.

  “Here it is!”

  Straight away, the young woman dropped to her knees. She appeared to have forgotten about her expensive gown and was kneeling, using her hands to brush away the sooty detritus and ashes from a section of the floor.

  Lars knelt down beside her. A piece of the floor had the outline of what might be a trapdoor. Lars tapped the square section. It gave back a hollow sound. The trapdoor appeared to be made of plasarm-coated steel. Lars rebuked himself for his earlier doubts.

  “Look! It’s here.” Caroline had removed a small tile from the trapdoor revealing a touch sensitive pad. “I hope it still works.”

  She pressed the pad. There was a faint click, but nothing further. She tried again, but with the same lack of result. Then Lars tried, but the trapdoor refused to budge.

  “It’s no use!” Caroline was almost in tears with frustration. “It’s jammed.”

  Lars scouted about in the rubble for something to use as a lever. />
  “Here, try this,” he said, returning with a section of iron reinforcing rod with a sharp edge where it had snapped.

  Caroline thrust the point of the rod into the narrow gap where the trapdoor met the floor and leaned her weight into the task. The door shifted a fraction. Lars added his strength. After a few minutes labour, the steel door slid back grudgingly with a grumble.

  “We did it,” Caroline cried happily. She bent across and kissed Lars lightly on the cheek. The soft brush of her lips thrilled his very being. His breath took in the sweet perfume of her skin. He laughed out loud, joining in her triumph – his own joy no less.

  “Right!” Caroline was quickly on her feet, hitching her hem high. Narrow steps led down to a locked door with Military Property. Strictly No Admittance emblazoned across it.

  One good kick from Lars’s hefty farm boot soon swung the door open. The secret location had been its main protection after all.

  Caroline led the way in. Lars expected alarms to sound and force fields to incarcerate them, but no such misfortune eventuated.

  * * *

  As Lars’ eyes became accustomed to the low light in the underground room, he realised they had indeed found the secret space transmitter. The electronic device was of a silvery plasarm construction in the shape of a pyramid about two metres high, and stood atop a large circular base with drawers. Around the base were three operators’ swivel chairs. The rest of the room was empty. On the far side of the room was another doorway.

  Lars recognised the transmitter as the type known as a deep space wave gun. He was aware of the main principles of how it worked, having studied the theories behind photon-engineering at school in his science classes.

  The gun was an electronic barrel down which light particles were fired by dark energy waves at velocities far faster than their customary speed. The wave gun used the same basic technology as the photon engines of space ships. However, without the mass of a vessel to push through space, the wave gun could accelerate light particles or photons at speeds far in excess of any space vessel’s velocity. Messages sent within the Orion Spur segment of the galaxy could reach their destination virtually instantaneously.