First Admiral 02 The Burning Sun (5 page)

But, it was John’s inconsistency that troubled her. Billy seemed to be one of those children who could do no right but for doing wrong. When he came home from school with a poor report, John would be scolding him for being stupid and lazy. When Billy came home with good grades, he was scolded for that most British of failings; being too clever by half. It was a situation that Billy seemed never to be able to win. Yet, John had often told her how proud he was of their young son. He just didn’t seem to know how to tell the one person who needed to hear it most. And, that was Billy himself.

Still, as Billy grew older, he worked hard at school, got good grades and stayed out of trouble as best he could. Certainly, he got into some scrapes, but then so did most boys, and it was never anything really serious like stealing or being in a gang. But, she noticed that slowly young Billy was slipping deeper and deeper into his own shell. He became quiet and shy as an older boy, quite the opposite of the energetic, carefree, robust and sporty child he had been. Well, to each to their own, she had though, maybe, he’s just matured beyond his years.

It was a denial-based strategy that Elizabeth was happy to maintain to hold her marriage together. But, with the stillbirth of her daughter and the news that she would not have any more children, she began to dote further on Billy. The loss of one child had made her especially protective of the one that had survived. When John’s inconsistent treatment of Billy led to a scolding, she would side with Billy and comfort him as much as possible. Thus, she was drawn into the difficult contradiction of ignoring her husband’s inconsistency whilst trying to convince Billy that everything was fine. It was a strategy that caused anger and resentment within her; at her husband’s unfairness, and also at herself for not standing up to him. It was a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

With the success of her first book, “My Lost Little Angel”, everything seemed to change for Elizabeth Caudwell; it seemed almost immediately. The first twenty thousand pound advance from George Teddington was quickly followed by other royalty cheques. With the first, Elizabeth had wanted to go on a huge spending spree, but John had been much more levelheaded. Her new accountant had supported her husband’s stance arguing about investing for Billy’s future; buying property, Stocks, Shares and Bonds, things she really didn’t understand anything about. John had suggested that she take a few thousand and spoil herself. That had been like a red rag to a bull for Elizabeth, and she had exploded in anger and rage.

She had said something about not needing him to tell her what to do with her money. A stunned and shocked John had walked away confused and bewildered. Up until that moment in time, there had only ever been one bank account into which both incomes were paid, and all expenditures monitored. There hadn’t been very much of it, but it had been “their” money. It was John, Elizabeth and Billy Caudwell versus the rest of the world in John’s mind. It had always been a struggle to make ends meet, but they had always struggled together. And, to be honest, he had been the major contributor to the family funds. Elizabeth’s job, working in a department store, paid less than a third of what John earned in the plastics factory.

Feeling guilty at her outburst, she had tried to bribe her way back into his affections with small, but well-chosen gifts. Not sure how to respond to the person he once thought he knew, he smiled politely, and uncomfortably accepted them. No more was said of the outburst for several months. In that time more and more money flowed into their bank account. Then, one day John disappeared up into the loft and started to work on something. He didn’t appear for dinner that evening, and the following morning Elizabeth found him fast asleep on the living room sofa. After snatching a hasty breakfast he returned back the loft, and had to be summoned to go to his shift at work. Then, when he returned home, he ate a quick sandwich and disappeared back to the loft again.

Billy did not seem to be overly concerned about his father’s strange behaviour, and Elizabeth herself had spent many hours obsessively creating her second book.

John’s new routine became quickly established; go to work, come home, eat, shower, then up into his loft. He was quickly becoming a stranger to his family in his own home; and Elizabeth, far from being concerned, began to focus on her next literary project and worrying about Billy. Billy was still a little too quiet and lacking in self-confidence for her liking. Elizabeth then decided that it was, perhaps, best for him to be sent to a select private school. There, she reasoned, they would know how to build up his confidence and develop his considerable intellect. She believed that the problem with Billy was not that he was stupid; he got really good grades at school. He was just shy and not very self-confident; and part of her knew that she had to get Billy away from John.

John dropping a bottle of milk had been the prelude to the most recent irrational verbal assault. During the verbal explosion she had called him a “Thermag” which was Garmaurian for a lazy, idle wastrel. Of course, John had understood her, and replied with “Gamrut” which meant arrogant and opinionated. Thankfully, it had struck neither of them that they had insulted each other in an alien language, nor that both of them had understood what the other had meant.

It was only a stupid pint of milk, Elizabeth had realized, a few pennies, what was that to her when she had hundreds of thousands of pounds in the bank?

But, yet she had exploded, once again, as if he had dropped and smashed some priceless family heirloom. The red mist had descended in front of her eyes and she had let fly with all the insults she could muster. She had called him names that she would bitterly regret afterwards, shocked at how deep her anger and rage really was. Once again, he had replied in kind and had stormed off to his loft to work on whatever he was up to in there. Again, she was left alone with the brutally oppressive silence. So much had been said in anger, and, yet, she had so much more still to say.

It never used to be like this, she thought. It hadn’t been like this when they had next to nothing. Sure, they had argued; there had always been arguments, but they had never been about trivialities like a broken milk bottle. They had argued about important things like buying new furniture or a better cooker. Something was going badly wrong with the marriage, and Elizabeth could not understand what it was. Even worse than that, she had no idea what to do about it.

But, more importantly, there was Billy. What was happening to Billy? His grades were the highest in the school over almost all subjects, and if he did like to be alone; developing a sense of identity and self-reliance, then that was something to be encouraged. Maybe, she was just being overly anxious about Billy, she considered.

She would just have to get used to the idea that, perhaps, Billy was growing up; and that she could stop fussing over him like an old hen.

Chapter 6

The Star-Cruiser Aquarius

Chief of Staff Marrhus Lokkrien sat alone in the peace and tranquillity of his Private Quarters contemplating yet another thorny issue. This time it was a personnel issue. A fourth Alliance Fleet was about to be commissioned into service, and it needed a commander. Normally, it was not the responsibility of the Chief of Staff to select a Fleet Commander, a Second Admiral. However, Marrhus Lokkrien liked to keep himself occupied even with more trivial matters than his job really required. He liked to keep busy. It kept his mind from straying back to the family he had been compelled to abandon on his home planet of Bardan when he had joined the young Alliance.

It had been almost a year since his defection and almost eighteen months since he had last seen his wife and two sons. He missed them all desperately. To them, he would be considered dead. One of the so-called Glorious Fallen; faithfully recorded in the ledgers of the Bardomil Imperial Fleet. He would be a hero, a dead hero, who sacrificed his life for the honour and glory of the empire rather than surrender. Fleet Commander Sarvin, his old commanding Officer, would be blamed for the disaster that had lost the Empire nine Imperial Fighter Carriers, but the supposedly-dead Lokkrien would be held up as a shining example of courage and dedication to duty.

Yet now, he was feeling neither honourable nor heroic. He just missed his children. He missed them so badly at times that it made every bone, muscle and sinew in his body ache. There were times he would lay down at night and think that perhaps death was better than this living agony of emptiness. He was an exile with no family, and certainly no friends in the Universal Alliance. The Alliance was still, technically, at war with the Bardomil Empire. As the only Bardomil working for the Alliance Fleet, he was a figure of mistrust and suspicion. Amongst those Fleet personnel from species who had suffered under Bardomil cruelty and tyranny, he was a figure of hatred and loathing. Amongst others he was an enemy in their own uniform. Marrhus Lokkrien was alone, horribly and frighteningly alone. He hated the loneliness and spent every waking hour working, rather than face the terror of his own company.

Only the thought that someday soon Billy Caudwell and the Alliance Fleet would sweep away the Empress kept the hope alive that, one day, he would see his family again. For now, he had to lie low. If the Bardomil Government even suspected that he was still alive, then all of his family would be summarily executed. He had to remain anonymous, silent and hidden to protect his family. In Fleet communications he was simply a code name: Enigma. He had to avoid combat situations or any possible activities that would expose his true identity or leave him vulnerable to capture. He hated it. He was a Bardomil, brought up to fight and to be in the thick of the action. And, there was plenty of action out there on the Alliance’s rapidly expanding frontiers for him to be involved in. Instead, he knuckled down and worked the facts and figures, made the decisions and helped the burgeoning Alliance as best he could with his expertise and experience.

As he worked through the Performance Folios of the potential Second Admiral candidates, the faint buzz of an alarm indicated that someone was standing on the pressure pad beyond the door and requesting admission to his Quarters. Looking at his desk-monitor, Lokkrien saw the unmistakable figure of Senior Intelligence Officer Karap Sownus shuffling nervously beyond the grey opaque force-shielding that formed the door of his Private Quarters. Checking the Time-Keeper on the monitor Lokkrien realised that the short, squat Thexxian Intelligence Officer’s duty shift would have ended several hours previously.

It also surprised Lokkrien that any Thexxian, a species hunted almost to extinction by the Bardomil, would be even contemplating speaking to him in an off-duty capacity. But, Lokkrien considered, Sownus was very different to the vast majority of Thexxians who, daily, went through the motions and saluted him with unspoken hatred and loathing in their eyes. Sownus was a professional, always formally correct, always matter of fact and always guarded with his opinions. He said very little, but when he did speak people paid attention.

“Come!” Lokkrien intoned passing his hand over the small white plate built into his desk that operated the door mechanism.

An instant later, the opaque force-shielding became transparent; exposing Officer Sownus and clearing to allow him entry.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, sir?” the unusually nervous Sownus piped up as he entered the room.

As soon as he cleared the doorway, the force-shielding automatically reinstated itself.

“Officer Sownus, come in, this is most unexpected. What can I do for you at this late hour?” Lokkrien dropped into the politely formal routines of senior Officer to subordinate; but, he was unable to hide the edge of surprise and curiosity in his voice.

“I know, I’m sorry, sir; but, I thought you might want to see this,” Sownus replied waddling forward towards Lokkrien’s work desk.

Having spent his early years as part of the Thexxian Exodus, fleeing from the Bardomil, the lack of proper nutrition had caused the bones of his lower legs to bow outwards. As he had grown to adulthood, the weakness in his lower legs had caused problems when he walked. This left Sownus with a strange almost waddling gait that for some was a source of mirth and amusement. Marrhus Lokkrien, however, was not one of those cruel and mocking individuals. Lokkrien knew a good, competent and efficient Intelligence Officer when he saw one. And, Karap Sownus was one of the best he had ever known.

“What is it, Officer Sownus?” the puzzled and confused Lokkrien asked his eyes drawn to the pink folio file in Sownus’ hand.

“It’s a low-level intercept from a local civilian broadcast on Bardan,” Sownus began, “fairly routine stuff, very little intelligence value, but I thought it might interest you, sir.”

“Why should it interest me, Officer Sownus?” Lokkrien asked, even more perplexed.

“Well, sir,” the now anxious Sownus stammered, “it’s about your eldest son, Gryeth, winning some kind of award,” he held the folio over with a slight tremble in his hand, “there’s no audio on it, I’m afraid, our lip-readers are still transcribing what they can from the images.”

Stunned to silence, Lokkrien reached out his now shaking hand and took the folio sheet from the nervous Thexxian. Then, Lokkrien, still unable to believe what was happening, carefully set the folio on a larger plate built into his desk. A moment later, the mechanism automatically activated and a three-dimensional image sprang to life above the pink folio.

It was a surprisingly clear image for a civilian broadcast. The image opened with several rows of brown-uniformed young adult Bardomil males standing to attention in a large open courtyard that might have been a school or a military academy. A group of adult Bardomil males in slightly darker brown uniforms approached the parade of younger males. Then the shot cut to a head and shoulders close-up of a young Bardomil male who bore a striking resemblance to Marrhus Lokkrien.

When the young male’s face appeared, Lokkrien let out a gasp of recognition and covered his mouth to choke back a sob. The image was unmistakably that of his eldest son, Gryeth. And, for a brief moment he felt a surge of paternal pride amongst the pain, anguish and loneliness.