by Nick Webb
“When we find the Caligula. I’ll adjust our trajectory to take us on a highly inclined orbit—we should be able to scan most of the space above the planet that way. We’ll find her soon.”
“And then?”
Quadri blew air out of his mouth. “Hell if I know. Then it’s time for Commander Po to come up with another crazy-ass plan.”
Gavin shrugged. “Hiding under an ice sheet doesn’t seem that crazy to me,” he said.
“That just shows you’ve never served in the Imperial fleet. They don’t do shit like that there. That’s the point of the Empire—order, rules, control. That’s why they never could just let Earth govern itself. We like to show our crazy too much for their liking. And Captain Mercer and Commander Po have just a bit too much crazy for the Empire’s liking. Why the hell do you think they’re spending so much time chasing us? We’re just one ship, after all. The Resistance basically got crushed back there at the shipyards battle, and yet here they are chasing us down.”
Gavin turned to Quadri. “So you think they’re just chasing us because of those two?”
“Of course. Mercer is turning into another Pritchard. And they can’t afford another Pritchard.”
“But isn’t he dead?”
Quadri smirked. “Dead? You must have never met Pritchard. The man is a certified genius. No sniveling Imperial admiral could outwit him. No, Newbie, he’s out there somewhere, biding his time until just the right moment. He’ll come back with some fleet he’s pulled out of his ass and save Earth. You just watch.”
Gavin shrugged again. “Yeah. Here’s hoping.”
***
Captain Titus turned to the communication station. “Ensign Evans, send out a wide band broadcast to every ship in orbit.”
After a moment, the comm officer said, “You’re live, Captain.”
Titus cleared his throat. “To all merchant vessels in orbit around Destiny. This is Captain Titus of the NPQR Caligula. I would understand if you felt unnerved by our presence here, as this is not Imperial space. To be honest, I have no interest in staying longer than we must. But I am looking for a hijacked Imperial vessel. The NPQR Phoenix is in the vicinity of Destiny, and we will be eternally grateful to the merchant or syndicate who manages to find it, and tell me her location. There may even be a reward involved,” he glanced back at his XO, who grinned.
He continued, “But rest assured that whoever does not help in the search will be added to our list of merchant vessels engaged in illicit activity, and will be targeted or detained by any Imperial fleet ship in the future. We have scanned the orbit of Destiny and already have a log of every ship here, so don’t think you can slip out unnoticed. I await all of your responses. Relay them by text to my communications officer. Titus out.”
“Sir!” the tactical officer yelled out. Titus spun to face him. “One of our fighters has returned, sir.”
“Just one?”
The officer nodded. “They’re messaging us that the others were destroyed, and they barely managed to escape intact.”
Titus shook his head. The pilot was lucky Trajan was not on the bridge. “Order him to return to the fighter bay for a debriefing. I want the report in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
So. The Phoenix’s fighter fought off four of their own, destroying three. Three next generation gravitic drives lost, out of twenty-three transferred from the Roc. He made a mental note to instruct the Wing Commander to develop new tactics involving the new drives, since the Phoenix fighter most likely had been practicing with it for weeks now.
“Sir!”
Titus spun again towards Ensign Evans. “What now?”
“Sir, I’ve got a merchant vessel—well, more like a pirate ship—that claims to know where the Phoenix is.”
“Where?”
“They haven’t told me yet, sir. They want to talk to you.”
Titus nodded. “Patch me through.”
A ragged voice sounded over the speaker. “Titis?”
“Captain Titus,” he corrected. “To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Captain Vorat of the cruiser Ragswain. I can take you to your ship.”
Titus nodded. “Good. How shall we—“
“For a price.” Vorat interrupted, his voice degenerating into a spasm of violent coughing. It sounded as though he had a vicious cold.
Titus nodded to himself. “If you give me information that leads to the Phoenix, you will be rewarded. But until then, you receive nothing until I see evidence of your knowledge. What are the coordinates?”
Vorat laughed. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I don’t fear you. Put me on whatever damn list you want, I never go into Imperial space anyway. No, I want pressed bars of gold. I know you Imperial boys all carry a supply on your ships. You know, for just such occasions as this?”
He was right, of course, but the presence of emergency funds on Imperial capital ships was supposed to be classified information. Especially that they had pressed gold bars.
“Fine. I’ll give you two kilograms of gold.”
Vorat laughed even harder, then coughed even more violently. Titus cringed at the awful, phlegm-filled noise.
“Two? That is what, just one pressed bar? No, Captain, I was thinking more along the lines of twenty pressed bars.”
“I haven’t got twenty.”
Vorat sniffed. “Then I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
After a moment’s pause, Titus shrugged. Surely the Phoenix, at a build cost of over a quadrillion credits, was worth more than the five million that ten pressed gold bars would set them back. “Ten. That’s all a capital ship carries.” It was a blatant lie—capital ships like the Caligula carried one hundred at least, but that seemed to satisfy Vorat.
“Ten it is. We’ll be at your ship shortly to collect payment.”
“No. Information first,” said Titus, sitting down in his captain’s chair.
“Ha! You expect me to spill my peas first, and then let you shove a torpedo up my ass as you go collect your precious ship?”
Captain Titus shrugged. “Fine. I’ll send half to your ship by shuttle, and then you will escort us to the Phoenix, at which point I’ll transfer the other half. How’s that?”
Clearly, this was more what Vorat had in mind, as he responded immediately. “It is well. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Titus drew a hand over his throat to signal Evans to cut the comm.
Pirates. Thank Athena for the Pax Humana, or their filth would still have free reign over all the Thousand Worlds.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BEN GROANED. HE TRIED TO reach up to his head to rub his piercing headache away, but found himself unable to do so. Strange—his shoulders hurt too. No, they screamed at him. Hot, fiery pain flared in his arms and shoulders, waking him up enough that he finally opened his eyes and looked up.
He was hanging. Dangling about a foot off the stone floor by his wrists, which were bound by chains attached to the ceiling. He let out a sharp puff of air as he tried to move, and the pain in his shoulder erupted into daggers pressing deep into every nerve.
Trying not to move again, he looked down. He was naked, except for the collar around his neck that he’d seen many of Velar’s people wear.
Velar. Where was she? He strained his neck around to glance at the space surrounding him. It was a simple, brick walled room, with nothing other than a few sets of chains hanging down from rivets in the ceiling. There was only one small light fixture, and one door in front of him. He strained his head to look behind, but the pain was too intense.
And he was alone. Gritting his teeth, he tensed his shoulder muscles and, in spite of the searing pain, yanked as hard as he could against the restraints holding him in.
They felt hopelessly solid. He lifted himself up a few inches and let his weight down precipitously again in another quick tug. Again, not so much as a creak from the rivets sunk deep into the dusty wooden beams. He groaned in pain.
; “Mr. Jemez, my monitor informed me that you’re awake,” said a voice behind him. Velar. He heard her footsteps approach and she appeared to his left holding a small electronic screen. She flashed it at him with a vague grin. “The collars keep me apprised of all my slaves’ progress. You received quite a nasty knock there. I do hope you’re not in too much pain—my customer wants you in tip-top shape for when he gets back from his trip. Shouldn’t be long now.”
Her customer? He’d thought he was destined to spend the rest of his life toiling away in her uranium mines.
“Where are my people?” he managed to croak out, suddenly realizing that his mouth was bone dry.
“They’re safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, except for one of your hired muscles. He tried to remove his collar rather abruptly and it didn’t end well for him. Which reminds me—please don’t try to remove your collar,” she said, a sly grin stretching into a cunning smile. She added, with a wink, “It won’t end well for you, either. Leave the fiber-optic implant alone, and you’ll be just fine. It can handle snags and incidental contact, but if you attempt to rip it out, the bomb inside your head will utterly destroy your brain. And slaves without brains are not much use. You see, Doctor Stone prefers his slaves to give themselves to him completely, of their own free will.”
She started pacing around him, stretching up a hand to his bare chest and stroking it gently. He recoiled at her touch as if it were a viper. “Doctor Stone—he’s brilliant, by the way, the finest nano-cyberneticist in the galaxy—he’s paying top coin for this body. He expects you to resist at first—in fact, that’s how he gets his cheap thrills—but his ultimate pleasure is that you give yourself to him completely and utterly, trailing after him like a dog, not even thinking about your own wants or desires, but focused singularly on him and his … needs.”
“It’ll never happen,” he said. He tested his feet, trying to raise them but realized that they were also chained down to the floor. He sighed—no way to lash out with his legs and knock her out.
She noticed his slight movement. “You may try to resist all you want—in fact, the more noise and thrashing you make when he arrives to inspect you, the higher price you’ll fetch. Just this immaculate body alone will be enough to land you the highest price I’ve ever commanded for a slave.” She stroked his abdomen, looking at him hungrily. “I’ve half a mind to keep you for myself…. Pity that he likes to mar things so.” Her voice drifted off in almost a sing-song tone. “I hear he likes knives. And other, more creative tools.”
A beep from the data pad drew her attention. “Velar, Doctor Stone has arrived.”
She held her pad up to her face. “Good. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
Ben willed moisture into his mouth and tried to speak again. “You won’t get away with this. Po will find you. The Phoenix still has its guns. She’ll blast the compound to hell before she let’s you keep us.”
She raised a lazy eyebrow. “The Phoenix? No, I’m afraid my most trusted slave of all is currently on board your ship, preparing to take it over. No, Jemez, soon Po will be joining you. We’ve got quite a shortage of good, strong-bodied women in our pleasure house—I’m afraid our customers have been going through them at an alarming rate. Costs me a fortune to keep the place stocked with local girls. Sometimes I even have to buy girls from Old Earth through my Imperial contacts.” She walked behind him.
He heard her footsteps pass through the door, which closed almost too softly to hear. When she’d gone, he immediately started thrashing against the restraints, tensing his abdomen and pulling up on his feet as hard as he could, to no avail. There was no escaping the chains. Not yet—not until they dared to release him.
And he’d have to be ready. Doctor Stone did not sound like pleasant company.
***
A day had passed since the explosion, and Po had worked for hours, going back and forth with the science, ops, and security teams about every possible scenario that might have caused the rupture, but the source evaded them.
And with the emergency bulkheads holding back over ten atmospheres of pressurized seawater, there was no chance of investigating the central location of the hull rupture—not in person, anyway, and likely not with the automated hull repair droids. They were not designed for operation under water and had not budged from their housing.
To the acting head of security she said, “Well at least evacuate everyone away from the outer hull. Get them all within the first sets of emergency bulkheads—if this happens again, at least we can avoid casualties.”
Ensign Szabo at science piped in, “If this happens again, we’re risking a progressive collapse of every deck, not just at the source. That explosion and the subsequent water penetration weakened the structural integrity of the ship—its like an egg with a piece of the shell missing. We’re nowhere near as strong as we were a few hours ago, and even then the risk of hull breach was high. Commander, I’m not even convinced that this explosion wasn’t just caused by the extreme pressure acting on some power conduit or hydraulic system somewhere.”
Commander Po approached the science station from the captain’s chair. “Then how long do you think we have, Ensign?”
Ensign Szabo shrugged. “No idea. But every hour we stay under here, the more likely our hull gets corroded. The more likely our conventional thruster ports get rusted out. More stress on the hull means more micro-cracks in the support girders running the length of the ship. It’s a crapshoot, Commander. Every hour we’re here is a gamble.”
“And yet every hour down here is another hour that we’re alive.” She knew the words were correct, but she realized that hiding was not a long-term solution. The Caligula would either find the Phoenix and drop a few megaton nuclear bombs on them—which, given their immersion in water would likely crush them—or they would just camp out until the Phoenix surfaced and destroy her in orbit.
Something had to give.
“Ayala, you’ve got the bridge.” She turned towards the tattooed, wispy-white haired Belenite at tactical and thumbed her towards the captain’s chair.
“Aye, sir,” said Lieutenant Ayala, who stood and tentatively sunk into the chair in the center of the bridge. Po almost thought she looked apprehensive. Guilty? For what? She shook her head once out in the hallway. Clearly the lack of sleep was getting to her, making her suspect even the most loyal officers of nameless crimes.
As the elevator doors closed, she tapped on her data pad and turned on the comm. “Sergeant Jayce and Sergeant Tomaga, please report to the brig. Immediately.”
Something had to give. And if that meant she had to finally place trust in two people that could undo everything they’d worked for over the last week, then so be it.
But it wasn’t just the last week. The shipyards operation had been planned for years. Ever since Pritchard disappeared. The D-day commemoration was to have been the breakout moment for the Resistance. The moment when all their years of suffering and fighting would come to a head and pay off. And now look at them. Hiding in a half-broken ship under the ocean of some god-forsaken world while their Captain, Security Chief, and Chief Engineer were held hostage by some petty slaving syndicate. How did it come to this?
“Open his door,” she said to the security officer standing guard at the console in the brig.
“Yes, sir.” Volaski’s door slid open and she walked in, seeing him rise from his bunk.
“Commander Po?” His Russian accent hung thick on his words, as if not speaking for half the day made him unaccustomed to talking like the rest of them.
Po stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. “Captain Volaski. How badly do you want to see your daughter again?”
The man shrugged. “Badly. But if you do not trust me to lead you to your men down on the surface, then I suppose we are still at a stalemate.”
Po sighed. “Recent events have changed our situation. We can’t stay under the water forever. We need to find our people and get the hell off Desti
ny. And we need your help to do it.”
Volaski smiled. “I agree.”
His smile unnerved her. In spite of his claims that he’d changed, that he only wanted to be free again, something about him nagged at her. He was not completely forthcoming, that much was clear. But she did not get the sense that he was blatantly lying to her. He really did want to be free. No one could hide that desire. To want to be free was to be human.
“What I don’t get is how you actually pull this off. The Caligula is in orbit. If you help us, they’re bound to find out. They have no qualms about blasting an entire planet to its core just to enforce their will, and to punish traitors. If you do this, you are a traitor to the Empire.”
“I’ve never been a friend to the Empire, Commander Po, so it’s no skin off my back, as they say. Trust me. I can disappear. They need never find me.” He glanced at the door as two more men appeared.
“What’s the trouble?” said Staff Sergeant Jayce as he swaggered into the cell, a bulge in his cheek from some chew. Tomaga followed close behind.
“The trouble is on the planet. How do you gentlemen feel about leading a rescue mission on Destiny?”
Jayce shrugged. “Bring it.”
Po raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Tomaga. “Sergeant? We could really use your urban warfare expertise.”
Tomaga kept his expression vague. And yet she could see him calculating, thinking. Was it worth it to him and his men to help? She hoped he saw the obvious—that if he didn’t help, he most likely would die with the rest of them. “I will help,” he said. “As a show of good will. In the interest of our new friendship.”
“Good. Volaski? How many soldiers has Velar got in her employ down there?”
The pirate shrugged. “At the compound? Fifty at least. But between my men, yours, and the element of surprise, we should do well. The only problem will be these collars.” He tapped the electronic device around his neck. “She can kill me and all my men in an instant with a press of a button. By this point, your Captain too. Your boys will have to pin her down quickly before she has a chance to do anything. Really, without some kind of plan, it’s a huge risk.”