The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (30 page)

The Citadel, Damascus, May 26th

The Great Sultan stood up slowly from the cushions around his work desk. It had been another tiring day in the running of his empire. And, once again, he felt as if he had achieved nothing. A great deal of time and effort had been expended, and yet he still felt that nothing had changed. The problems of today would still be problems for him to solve tomorrow. The harvests were failing and the people would soon be hungry. The Sultan knew that with hunger came unrest and violence. Hungry people with hungry families had nothing to lose, and that made them dangerous. Food riots in Cairo and Damascus would draw soldiers away from the frontiers, leaving the empire vulnerable. The Treasury was almost empty and bringing food in from other sources was going to be difficult. And, even if he could find food for his people, there was no guarantee that the Regional Governors wouldn’t embezzle the grain meant for the ordinary people to line their own pockets with inflated prices. More than once, he had personally smashed down storeroom doors to find them filled with food withheld by local officials. The punishment for such hoarding was immediate execution. However, Saladin knew that he could not be everywhere at once, and the chances of a local administrator being caught were slim.

Rubbing his eyes in the gloom of the lamplight, Saladin felt the familiar pressure behind his eyes that foretold a headache. It was going to be yet another sleepless night for the Sultan of Syria and Egypt. Tomorrow was another day, he considered. Perhaps there would be some solution, some spark of wisdom, some answer to his prayers with the new day. But first, he needed rest. His mind was too tired and too full of information and worries for him to think clearly at that time of night.

At least, he considered, the military situation was still holding. The Army of Jerusalem had marched north, according to his spies, and fought a brief skirmish at a place called Muscigny. The remnants of the Templar force had been sent back to Acre under armed guard, so the Muslims of Jerusalem were at least safe until the next mad Christian decided on a spot of Infidel slaughtering. Baldwin’s troops had delivered the Templars back to their base and then marched straight back to Jerusalem. There had been no march to Damascus or South into Egypt. Raids across the border had ceased almost entirely, except for a few bandits. The peace was still holding. The strange Admiral’s word had held good, Saladin had to concede. His nephew had been returned to the family, slightly the worse for wear, but the physicians had reported that there would be no long term physical problems from his imprisonment. Saladin was just grateful that the boy had been returned alive.

Closing his eyes, the Sultan rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand as if he could somehow release the tension from his mind. With a loud sigh, he pushed his head forward and ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair, hoping to avoid the stabbing needle like pain behind his eyelids.

And, as he scratched his short wiry hair, the Sultan considered calling for his Physician for something to relieve the expected pain. With another deep sigh, he considered against it.

He was too tired to listen to the anxious prattling of the Physician as he scampered around the bed chamber; arguing with himself as to the best course of action for a headache. His potions and preparations never really worked anyway, so the Sultan decided to spare himself any further annoyance and just go to bed.

Opening his eyes, the Sultan suddenly discovered that he was no longer in his own bed chamber. Stunned, confused and disorientated, the Sultan of Syria and Egypt stumbled and found himself pressing his right hand against a cold white metal wall in a brightly-lit white metal box. In front of him, a rectangular opening led to another white metal box.

“Cousin, it is good to see you,” an unfamiliar voice welcomed him.

Staring, wide-mouthed with astonishment, Saladin’s eyes began to focus on the young, white-robed European man who sat at the white table which dominated the box.

“My Lord Saladin, welcome, Your Majesty,” the more familiar voice of the strange, red-haired Admiral cut into the Sultan’s instantaneous confusion.

“What the…” the startled Sultan gasped as he began to orientate himself to his surroundings.

“Forgive us for the rude interruption, cousin,” the white-robed European said soothingly, “however, the walls in Jerusalem have ears, and we suspect that Damascus is no different,”

“Baldwin?! You are Baldwin?”

“At your service, My Lord Saladin,” the young king nodded politely.

“So, it is true,” Saladin marvelled as he sat down on the chair opposite Baldwin. “Your Physician is truly remarkable, Admiral.”

“He’ll be very flattered to hear such a thing from you, Your Majesty,” Billy Caudwell replied.

“Would you ask him if he has anything for headaches?” the Sultan requested sheepishly.

“I shall arrange a consultation for Your Majesty when you have concluded your business here.” Billy smiled.

“We were not aware we had any business to conduct?” Saladin asked in confusion.

“Oh, I suspect Your Majesties might have a great deal to consider.” Billy smiled, removing himself to the next cabin.

“How so, My Lord Admiral?” Saladin responded as Billy disappeared.

“The Admiral reports that your harvests are failing, cousin,” Baldwin spoke with calm determination.

“That is no concern of Jerusalem, or the Admiral!” Saladin blustered.

“Hungry people do foolish things, cousin. They bring down Kings who we can do business with, and replace them with hot heads and madmen who bring only false promises, death and long costly wars.”

For a moment, the outraged Sultan stared at Baldwin, who replied with his calm brown eyes, and then the political realist in Saladin’s character stepped-in.

“You have much wisdom for a young man.”

“We thank you, My Lord Saladin. So, how do we alleviate this impending food crisis?”

“We still do not see how it is the concern of Jerusalem?”

“You have Christians in Egypt, just as we have Muslims in Jerusalem?”

“Yes, but, what are you suggesting My Lord Baldwin?”

“Let us say, a long-term, a very long-term loan. Repayable many years from now, and, safe passage for food convoys by land and sea.”

“Ah, yes, but how will you justify such a loan from the Jerusalem Treasury?”

“Oh, it won’t be coming from the Jerusalem Treasury.” Baldwin smiled, sitting back on his chair.

“Not from the Jerusalem…then how?”

“We believe the Templar Order may wish to make a substantial donation?”

“The Templars!? Why would the Templars wish to contribute to this loan to feed Muslims?”

“Well, cousin, if they want their old vocation of guarding the Pilgrim Routes to Jerusalem back, they’ll pretty much empty their coffers. No Pilgrim Routes means no reason for the Templars to exist, and no more money for the Order.”

“Magnificent! Such beautiful irony!” The Sultan clapped his hands with delight.

“Well, the Templars are grown too rich and too powerful for our tastes. Perhaps we should clip their wings a little?”

“It would certainly curtail their raids into the Sinai,” Saladin pondered.

“And, perhaps stop those bandit raids in the Golan and the Jordan?”

Raids by Muslim troops from Syria had plagued Baldwin for many years along the river Jordan, stemming from the Golan Heights. But, despite vehement denials by the Sultan, it was well known that Saladin had always sanctioned such forays.

“Yes, perhaps, and perhaps we should meet to discuss such things more often?”

“The Admiral will most likely be only too pleased to help us. Do we have an agreement, cousin?” Baldwin held out his hand.

“We have an agreement, cousin,” Saladin replied, extending his own right hand.

And, they sealed the first of many such deals.

The Star Cruiser Aquarius, 2nd June

Engineering Technician Lurca Sanguvin stared intently at the screen of the Metal Fusion Apparatus. Slowly, the visual scanner tracked across the surface of the newly fused join on the Thrust Engine block. Carefully, Lurca watched for the tell-tale signs of metal stress; the red hot-spots that would condemn nearly two hours of hard work to the Recycling Chambers.

Behind Lurca, two more Technicians peered anxiously at the output device with baited breath and anxious minds. This was the big one, the last major job that needed to be completed in the repair of the Aquarius. The huge Thrust Engine block, nearly one hundred metres wide, had to be fused as one solid piece of alloy. The combination of Theramet, the heat resistant metal, and Selnium, the hardening mineral, had to be as near perfect as the facilities on the Aquarius could manage. The uneven mixture of the two elements would lead to stresses and weaknesses in the Engine casing, which could be potentially disastrous when the Star Cruiser engaged full power.

The Engine block, made up of twelve separate pieces generated from the largest Synthesiser aboard the Aquarius, was always going to be weakest where the components had been fused together. The Synthesisers would be able to produce excellent quality components to make up the huge Engine, but they had to be checked. Three other squads of Engineering Technicians, under Lurca’s close supervision, had scanned the components for any flaws. Being replicated from a database of templates, the components could not be immediately guaranteed as fit for purpose. So, a great deal of time had to be spent in scanning, re-scanning, and testing the components until Lurca was fully confident that they would comfortably survive the stresses and strains of flight. Lives depended on getting the job done right, and Lurca was not prepared to take any chances. After all, one of those lives was her own.

Normally, the Thrust Engine block would have been manufactured as one solid piece of alloy. However, the force of the Aquarius crashing had cracked the original casing very badly. The damage had been so severe that the Senior Engineer had condemned the item as unusable. That meant an entire rebuild. The original Engine block had been dismantled, and the alloy sent for recycling. Only when Main Power had come back online were the Engineers able to turn on the big Synthesisers that could replicate the components required. Then, it had been a simple case of trial and error until the right degree of quality had been achieved before fusing the components together.

Fusing the components together was not as simple a job as it had first appeared to be. The Metal Fusion Apparatus applied long bursts of Dichorium radiation which broke up the molecular bonds of the alloy. The two parts of the fusion could then fit neatly together, or so it was assumed, at the molecular level; forming the perfect, seamless join.

The reality was that slight misalignments and the uneven application of the radiation led to a series of poor and unacceptable fusions. The calibrating technology aboard the Aquarius was just not as sensitive or accurate as the Engineers had first imagined.

Once again, trial and error, plus a large wastage of components, had helped refine the fusion process until they had reached the point where eleven of the twelve components were in place. Now, Lurca Sanguvin suffered the mental agonies as the scanner within the Metal Fusion Apparatus swept across the surface of the final fusion. The preliminary sweep was not showing anything close to resembling a red-hot spot; however, the numbers for misalignment of the molecular bonds were still being calculated. Lurca knew that she could never get the full ‘0.000’ rating of a perfect join, but any number below ‘0.005’ was going to be good enough to be accepted as safe. The other join to this component had achieved a rating of ‘0.003,’ and Lurca hoped and prayed that the final join would be even lower.

Behind her, Lurca heard one of the other Technicians breathing heavily in the strained silence of the Thrust Engine Compartment. Everything had stopped on Lurca’s order. There needed to be no vibration or interference with the scanner for it to do the job properly. Engineering Officers and Technicians stopped whatever they were doing and watched nervously as the pale blue numerals from the scanner danced across the screen. Filled with both excitement and anxiety, Lurca held her breath and wished that her colleague behind her would stop breathing.

Suddenly, the numbers stopped dancing and began to flash the final result. Steeling herself for the moment of truth, Lurca focussed on the all-important result. The numbers were flickering on the screen, and that wasn’t usually a good sign. The numbers flickered red when the result was above ‘0.005’. However, this time, the numbers were still pale blue. Moving closer to the screen, Lurca saw the numbers flickering between ‘0.002’ and ‘0.001’. They had done it. The final fusion had been completed successfully. They were going home.

Behind Lurca, another female Engineering Technician let out a squeal of delight and flung her arms around her heavily breathing male colleague. The tension in the compartment then broke, followed by the cheering and shouting of delighted Engineers. It had been long months on Geminus for the exhausted and overworked Engineers. The constant pressure of the work required to complete the repairs to the Aquarius was already telling in elevate stress levels, mood swings, and minor accidents. Now, for the first time in weeks, the Engineers were cheering. With the Thrust Engine block completed, the re-build of the rest of the engine would be a routine reassembly for the experienced Engineers, so they cheered, and shouted, and hugged and celebrated as Lurca sighed heavily with relief.

It was time to go home.