The Ganthoran Gambit (The First Admiral Series) (13 page)

“I think so, granny,” Slythra croaked, clutching at her ravaged throat as she managed to sit up on her left hip.

“Can you move?” her grandmother asked.

“We know who you are and where you live, we’re gonna get you for this,” a voice threatened darkly from the mob.

“I don’t think so.” Slythra’s grandmother replied to the threat with a rapid-fire burst of laser bolts that cut and scarred into the wall above the mob.

The mob instinctively ducked, covering their heads with their arms, as more dust and debris showered down about their heads from the damaged wall.

“You’ll pay for this, traitor!” another impotent threat emerged from the cowering mob.

“You go right ahead and try!” Slythra’s grandmother countered with another burst of laser fire. “This girl’s father, my son, is one of the Martyrs!”

The Martyrs were the Imperial Guards killed by General Kallet in the cruel fire suppressant massacre at the barracks. And, as Martyrs, the families of the dead Guards were now protected by Imperial Decree. Anyone who tried to harm Slythra, or her grandmother, would be summarily executed.

At that moment, the sudden realisation that her father was now dead started to seep into Slythra’s consciousness. Her grandmother had said nothing about it to protect the young girl until the fighting in the city was over. Still in shock from the violent assault, her tears slowly began to well up in her green eyes. There would be a time for grief later, but her instinct told her that she was far from out of the danger of this situation.

“She’s a traitor, she was helping a wounded Frontier Fleet scum!” the threatening voice called out again.

“Is this true?” Slythra’s grandmother looked into her eyes.

“She was hurt and she was thirsty,” Slythra replied softly.

“She helped because she’s a good, kind, caring young girl, not a traitor!” her grandmother replied. “If it had been you that was injured, she would have helped, too!”

The answer was met with cat-calls and shouts of derision from the mob.

“Right, sweetness, we have to go.” She helped Slythra to her feet, whilst pointing the laser pistol at the mob.

Shakily, Slythra rose, and found her balance again after a few moments.

“Just walk slowly behind me, don’t look back and keep going,” her grandmother instructed calmly.

Then, with the laser pistol in her right hand, whilst holding Slythra’s arm with her left, the brave grandmother began to back carefully away from the mob of angry and subdued people.

“That’s it, just keep going.” Slythra’s grandmother continued to watch the sullen mob closely.

Still shocked and frightened, Slythra followed her instructions, clutching her grandmother’s hand tightly. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Slythra focussed on the doorway through which she had entered the Hall only a few minutes before. Still unsteady on her feet, Slythra kept her breathing under control and fought down the urge to panic as she stumbled through the rubble.

“Just stay right there!” Slythra’s grandmother unleashed another rapid-fire burst from the laser pistol.

This time, the laser bolts sparked and zipped from the ruins of the polished floor in front of the mob who were slowly trying to pursue them from the Hall. With laser bolts cascading upwards in every direction, the mob scattered to find cover with screams and panicked shouts. However, just as Slythra and her grandmother were about to make a break a path for the doorway a tall figure in a black uniform entered the Hall.

“What’s going on here!?” the Landing Trooper officer bellowed as armed Ganthoran civilians dashed for cover.

Behind the Landing Trooper officer, his squad of ten men deployed rapidly, pulsar-rifles pointed, ready for any and every eventuality.

With a sigh of relief, Slythra’s grandmother held out the laser pistol, butt first to their black- clad saviour.

“I surrender myself and my granddaughter to your protection, Your Highness.” After her formal announcement to the astonished officer, Slythra’s grandmother fell to her knees.

“Sergeant, get this lot rounded up and disarmed, we’ve had enough anarchy for one day!” the officer ordered the thick-set NCO who accompanied him.

“Sir!” The sergeant proceeded to shout out a stream of orders to the other Troopers.

“Now, madam.” The officer began removing his visor-ed helmet. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me just exactly what is happening here?”

“Sir?” The Senior Scanner Officer called from the gloom of the darkened War Room. “We have Scanner contact with the combined Frontier Fleets.”

“Thank you, Scanners,” Billy Caudwell said, “patch the long-range image onto the War Table please.”

“Sir!”

A few moments later, the holographic projectors threw the image of the three combined Ganthoran Frontier Fleets into the harshly-lit viewing confines above the War Table surface. Billy Caudwell noted, with some relief, that although there were the ships from all three rebel Frontier Fleets approaching the planet of Ganthus from the same direction, they were still flying as separate individual fleets. Scrutinising the image more closely, Billy Caudwell could see that there were three separate “Six-Cigar” Carrier formations; surrounded by their own Cruiser and Destroyer escorts. That might just be a lucky break, Billy Caudwell considered as he speculated that the Frontier Generals may have decided to combine their forces against a common enemy, but the separate formations indicated that they still did not trust each other. Division amongst the Senior Officers of any combined force was usually a fatal weakness, and the unconscious part of his mind that was Teg Skarral Portan began to relay the strategies that would destroy this fleet to the conscious mind of Billy Caudwell.

Looking at the image, Billy saw the totals building to indicate the numbers and types of vessels that he was about to try to face down, “Six-Cigar Carriers”: Eighty-nine Cruisers: Over four hundred. Destroyers: Over two thousand. It was an Armada of warships straight from First Admiral Billy Caudwell’s worst nightmares. For a moment, the teenage First Admiral felt the tightening in his chest that would normally herald some form of panic attack. However, the unconscious part of his brain that was Teg Portan knew that often such large numbers could be a tremendous disadvantage. And, with that realisation, the feeling of panic quickly subsided. If Billy Caudwell could somehow get these Ganthoran warships into the confines of the Calyx Wormhole, then their huge numerical advantage would mean nothing. But, how to get them into the Wormhole was what troubled the mind of the teenaged First Admiral.

Running through the possible permutations, Billy quickly rejected one potential strategy after another. Dividing his forces in the face of such a huge horde of Ganthoran warships was effectively committing suicide. Even with the element of surprise, the advantage would quickly evaporate once the ships got into close-combat range. Even in stealth mode, the sheer weight of Ganthoran fire would quickly hunt down and eliminate even the best Stealthed and Force- Shielded Alliance warship. Harassing tactics would have very little effect; there were just too many Ganthorans. Even with stealth, superior speed, and Force Shielding, the Alliance raiders would be little more than an irritation to the Ganthoran combined fleets.

It would be like sending a mosquito against an elephant
, Billy considered, and dismissed the idea.

No
, Billy thought,
there would have to be some element of baiting a trap to lure the Ganthorans into the Wormhole
.

And, the juiciest morsel that he could think of to bait the trap was First Admiral, now Emperor of the Ganthorans, William Caudwell. If he was going to pull off a coup like this, then he would have to stick his neck in the noose, just as he had done for the Time Warrior ritual.

“Very well,” Billy said, “take First Fleet to General Grobbeg’s position; two hundred kilometres from the Calyx Wormhole.”

“Sir,” the Senior Propulsion Officer responded from the darkness.

What Billy Caudwell needed was time. He needed time to dream up some strategy or trick to lure the Ganthorans into the Wormhole. Admiral Parbe’an and Third Fleet were already stationed beyond the Wormhole. After all a stream of Ganthoran warships exiting the Wormhole would be a huge, sitting duck target for his guns. What remained of General Grobbeg’s Frontier Fleet was already at the Wormhole. Taking First Fleet from the orbit of Ganthus, out beyond the Rubicos line, within spitting distance of the Calyx Wormhole would give Billy several precious hours to formulate a plan of some kind.

Standing at his War Table, his arms folded over his chest and scratching the cleft of his chin with his left thumb, Billy descended into his deepest thoughts. Wracking his brain for some miracle manoeuvre, Billy Caudwell pondered the problem from every possible direction.

This is going to take something pretty special to pull this off
, he considered.

It would need to be something pretty special indeed.

John Caudwell had been feeling particularly pleased with himself as his plane touched down at New York airport.

The deal on the disused nuclear bunker in the desert would be signed and sealed by the end of the week. The Nevada State Treasury would once again start receiving revenue from what had, for several years, been an empty hole in the desert. That would be adequate enough of an argument to convince the Nevada State authorities that the sale to Caudwell should go ahead. And, with his plans to develop the site, there would be jobs aplenty for the local workforce. Exactly how he was going to shoehorn two large underground nuclear reactors into the specifications was something that John Caudwell would have to consider. But, maybe if there was some sort of deal about providing cheap electrical power to the nearby township, at the off-peak hours, the objections might be somewhat more muted than many would expect.

Now, John planned to surprise Elizabeth at her book signing, and they could spend some time relaxing together in New York City. After the visit to Nakamura and a trip to Nevada, John Caudwell was feeling more than a little tired, and some R & R was definitely amongst his plans. Elizabeth had always wanted to visit the big department stores, the Empire State Building, and a Broadway show. Well, now they had the chance, and John Caudwell had a large bundle of dollar bills in his pocket, and a heavy cheque book account with which to spoil his wife. And, yes, he did admit to himself that maybe he had been neglecting her. But, now he was going to make things right. Now, he had enough money coming in for both of their dreams, and for several of Billy’s, too.

They would have a new life in the United States. They could live on the new site that he was developing in Nevada. It would have everything that a family needed; shops, schools, leisure facilities. They would have the best that money could buy. There would be a new house, a new life away from the dreary Scottish climate, and a fresh start to make things work as a family.

With the wonderful vision of a new future buzzing around his head, the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel where Elizabeth was staying in seemed to flash by in an instant. The buildings and traffic were simply a blur in the mind of John Caudwell, and even the oppressive New York summer heat was less of a burden and more of an inconvenience. The future was looking bright in the mind of John Caudwell, and he was going to bend every ounce of will and effort that he possessed to make it work. They hadn’t really had much of a family life up until now. With him working all the crazy shifts at the plastics factory, and Elizabeth in all of the shops that she had worked in since they had got married, their jobs seemed to take up all of their time and effort. Nonetheless, they had had to make ends meet, and now they had done it. Elizabeth had her best-selling book, and was working on another. He had more money behind him now than both he and Elizabeth had ever dreamed of.

Now, the struggling was over, and the family could enjoy the fruits of their labours. Billy could stay at his school in the Highlands, and then go to University anywhere he chose. With his grades in science and mathematics, the colleges would be clamouring for him.

That, and his father’s money, of course
, John Caudwell smiled as the buildings of New York had hurtled past through his yellow cab window.

Everything was going to be all right from here on in
, John Caudwell thought.
Maybe I can get to know Billy a bit better
, he mused,
be a real father to him now that I have the time
.

The tradition of Caudwell males still held strong. John Caudwell had never been close to his own father, yet felt a closer affinity to his grandfather.

And, Billy was shaping up to be the same. Billy had always been a distant boy, and was turning into a distant young man, with a closer bond to his own grandfather than to John Caudwell. When John’s own grandfather had died, there had been no one to fill that gap in his life. Looking back, his own father had made a feeble attempt, but his work and career had always managed to get in the way. In a way, John was jealous of that bond, just as, he supposed, his own father had been of his bond with his grandfather. Yet, another part of him was glad of that grandfather and grandson bond, because now that he was older, he understood it. He was also glad that now he still had time to form his own bond with his son.

After paying his fare, John Caudwell stepped out of the cab and sprang energetically up the dozen stone steps of one of the most exclusive five-star hotels in New York City. At the top of the steps, he passed through an immaculately-cleaned wooden revolving door, adorned with sparklingly clean glass pane and brilliantly polished brass handrails. A few enthusiastic steps later, he entered the marble-floored lobby of a hotel that seemed to have been drawn out of the 1930’s and set into modern day New York. Elegant and well-dressed people seemed to glide majestically over the high-polished floor beneath the sparklingly spotless chandeliers.

In front of him, a large marble counter bore a large sign declaring it to be the “Reception Desk”. Confidently, John Caudwell strolled up to a young man behind the desk who seemed busy with duties not related to customer service. The young man was of medium height, and sported immaculately groomed black hair. His jacket was a uniform burgundy colour that all the Desk Clerks seemed to be wearing. His shirt was a crisp and impeccable white, whilst his bow tie was of the uniform burgundy colour. The shiny, gold, oval badge fixed to his left lapel revealed that his name was “Glenn”.

“Excuse me, I wonder of you can help me?” John immediately realised that he sounded too much like a British tourist, and continued without waiting for a response. “I’m looking for Missus Elizabeth Caudwell...I’m her husband. I phoned and left a message for her earlier today.”

“Oh yes, sir.” The Desk Clerk, named Glenn smiled, shuffling through some cards behind the imposing marble counter. “Oh, I’m sorry sir, but Missus Caudwell checked out this morning.”

“Ch-checked out…you mean, as in, left?” John Caudwell stammered.

To John Caudwell, it felt like someone had hit him in the stomach with a steel girder.

“Yes, sir.” Glenn’s smile evaporated. “I’m sorry, sir, she checked out and took a cab to the airport.”

“Did she leave any messages?” John’s good mood was dissolving as he stood at the desk, waiting for any crumbs of information.

“Erm, no sir...Sorry sir.” Glenn seemed genuinely apologetic.

“Did she get my telephone message from earlier on?”

“I believe so, sir, she picked it up before going to her book signing engagement,” Glenn offered, attempting to be helpful.

“O.K., thank you.” John smiled insincerely, leaving Glenn to return to his duties.

Turning slowly from the Reception Desk, John Caudwell’s mind began the million and one possible explanations as to why Elizabeth would suddenly leave when she knew that he was going to be in New York that afternoon.

She was due to be in New York for a few more days, so why would she suddenly take off without leaving him a message?
He began to work the permutations in his mind.

It just didn’t make sense.

Walking slowly and absent-mindedly back through the lobby, he was jostled by a well-dressed man and woman. Muttering an apology, he walked as if in a daze back through the revolving door and down the stone steps he had so exuberantly bounded up only a few minutes before.

“Cab for the airport, please,” John Caudwell mumbled to the tall man, who stood on the sidewalk wearing a burgundy tailcoat and top hat with the spotless white gloves.

The burgundy dressed man raised a shiny silver whistle to his lips to summon one of the numerous cabs that plied their trade around the hotel. Whether the man blew the whistle or not, John Caudwell was completely unaware. Lost in his own thoughts and fears, he kept asking himself one word:

Why?