The Sword and the Plough (10 page)

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.

* * *

Caroline stood bent over the wave gun
examining the various direction locators and wave strength gauges
of the transmitter’s controls. Lars studied her as she inspected
this part and that. It was the first real chance he had had to
observe her closely. If he had thought her beautiful before, he now
thought her exquisite. In the pastel light of the vault, the line
of her finely shaped profile, the slender curve of her neck, and
the gentle tumble of her shoulder length auburn hair, created a
rare beauty that triggered an almost irresistible longing in him to
reach out and touch her.

“Well here goes, Lars.” A pair of smiling
hazel coloured eyes broke into his reverie.

She pressed the power pad. But no whir of
energy followed. She pressed again, harder, and then three times in
quick succession, the latter being as forceful as she could manage.
But the dials which indicated the charge levels moved not one
iota.

“Damn!” Caroline muttered, her brow
crinkling. “There’s no power.”

But the young woman was undeterred, and once
again a fount of knowledge.

“Right Lars, the equipment looks fine, but
the main power source appears to have been damaged. There is an
auxiliary system further inside the complex. Do you think you would
be able to get it going?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied. “I’ve worked
power plants on the farm. There shouldn’t be anything too special
about it.”

“Okay, through that door then.” She motioned
towards the doorway on the far side of the room. “It’s quite a
large complex, so you will need this.” She held out a torch she had
found in a drawer. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can
discover an up-to-date listing of the royal patrols in the area,
their course and signal points. We don’t want to broadcast our
message to the enemy, do we?”

Lars hesitated. “I’m not sure I should leave
you here alone,” he said. “What if those troopers come back?”

“
Don’t worry, I’ll be all right,” she
answered. “They won’t find me down here. Just get that power on.
When you get back, I’ll have the co-ordinates of the nearest Royal
interplanetary warship and then we can send out our call for
help.”

The covert Wave Gun
installation
– late afternoon

Lars found himself in a long pitch-black
corridor. Nevertheless, the air smelt fresh. It was evident that
the complex had been designed to withstand the most severe damage,
and the ventilators had kept working.

The torch cast a reassuring glow down the
dark shadows in the maze of underground passages he now
encountered. But if the number of secondary passageways in the
secret complex was bewildering, the sign-posting at least was
unambiguous. His questing torch beam found large lettered signs on
the walls pointing to storerooms, bunkrooms, a kitchen, toilets,
and bathrooms.

He had gone perhaps twenty metres or so
down the main corridor, and was estimating he must have travelled
beneath the full length of the building, when he came to a
T-junction. At this, his torch illuminated two signs, which made
his choice straightforward. The words
War Room
in large red letters had an
arrow pointing to the left, while
Auxiliary Power
Plant
had an arrow to the
right.