by Daniel Gibbs
“My father says the reason the League is so awful is they don’t worship God.”
“Colonel Cohen is always telling me not to fall into that trap when we have deep discussions.”
“Why?”
“Because he believes anyone is capable of having a set of morals,” Ruth said.
“You don’t sound like you agree with him,” Susanna observed.
“I’m not sure. He’s right in there’s plenty of atheists in the Terran Coalition, and most of them are decent people. I think what I’ve come to believe, though, is none of us are good. We’re all flawed, and all of us are capable of incredible acts of evil. I think by admitting it, our religion helps to keep us on a better path. Sometimes, at least.”
“What else happened on this planet, all those years ago?” Susanna suddenly asked.
Ruth closed her eyes. “It wasn’t just them killing my parents or what happened to me in the resistance.”
“Ruth, I don’t know you that well, but I can see this pain all about you. Maybe it would help to talk about it?”
“I don’t talk about this to anyone.”
“Except me.”
There is that. Maybe it’s because she has a frame of reference. “Remember what those two men tried to do to you?”
Susanna shuddered. “Yes. I’ll never forget it.”
“There are far worse things that can happen,” Ruth said quietly. “The resistance wasn’t all successes. We put our licks in on the Leaguers, but they put some on us too. I was eventually captured during a large-scale uprising timed to tie down garrison troops during the liberation of our planet by the TCMC.”
“Did they… “ Susanna began, before trailing off.
“They did horrific things to me. Questioning, torture… things I’ll never forget,” Ruth replied, her mind suddenly gripped in the memory of that day, so many years ago.
Like it was yesterday, Ruth could feel the damp clamminess of the interrogation chamber. Captured the day before, she sat, handcuffed to a table, a single light hanging from the ceiling. The only door swung open, and a League officer walked in. He wore a pristine uniform that appeared freshly pressed, hair slicked back, and a smug expression of superiority. It’s a pretty boy, how cute. Her mind was still looking for ways to cope with humor.
“Prisoner Seven-Five-Six-One, I am your interrogator,” he announced, pacing into the room like an animal on the hunt for its latest prey.
“Goldberg, Ruth. Rank, Leaguer killer first class.”
The man laughed coldly before he slammed her head casually into the table. Pain seared through her head, and blood gushed from her nose.
“Consider that the first and last answer you’ll give me which is anything but respectful,” he stated, his tone oddly formal.
Ruth raised her head, fighting to preserve defiance in her face. I’m not giving them anything.
“Your friends have launched attacks all over the planet. There must be something special about today. What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not lie to me,” he said quietly in a threatening tone that made her blood run cold.
“Our cells are compartmented so that no one knows what’s going on,” Ruth began. “We get our orders from a dead drop and carry them out.”
“What were your orders for today?”
Ruth remained silent as the man paced around the table. “I asked you a question, Prisoner Seven-Five-Six-One.” At her continued silence, the man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small device. “Do you know what this is?”
“No,” Ruth replied.
“It’s an entertaining little toy. See the little pieces of metal at the end there? If I touch this to your skin, it will send a pulse of electricity throughout your body. Quite painful, you see.”
This is one sick dude.
He pressed the thing against her arm. Intense pain swept throughout her body, and unable to control herself, she went into convulsions, her arms and legs flailing around.
“I would prefer not to use this on you, of course. Just tell me what I need to know.”
Ruth breathed in and out, her lungs on fire, mind racing at the predicament she found herself in. “We were supposed to attack the paramilitary police motor pool. Where you caught us,” she finally said. That wasn’t entirely true; while it had been an objective, the real goal was to steal a few armored vehicles and deliver them to another cell.
“See? Wasn’t it simple to give me a little information?” the man asked, his smug smile returning in full force. “Now, who runs your cell?”
“We don’t use names,” Ruth lied.
The interrogator didn’t even bother calling her on it. He jammed the torture device into her arm again, sending pain to every corner of her body. Ruth screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please! Please make it stop!” Tears poured down her face, and just when she thought she could take no more, it stopped.
“Who runs your cell?”
“I don’t know!” Ruth shouted, spit flying out of her mouth while the tears continued to flow.
He jammed the device into her arm yet again, and she braced herself for another wave of torment. When it didn’t come, she opened her eyes to see him standing there staring at her.
“Perhaps there is a better way for us to reach a mutually beneficial resolution,” the interrogator said, walking around the table and taking a seat in the other chair. “I have a superior who has been asked by our sector admiral to fulfill a request for him. You are Jewish, yes?”
Ruth nodded.
“A virgin?”
Oh my God. Panic welled up from within. “Yes,” she whispered.
“This admiral… he likes younger women who are virgins. Very rare in the League, you see. While I can see you recoiling in horror, it’s not like that. The admiral treats his concubines with respect. You would be well-fed, clothed, and want for nothing. In return, his every whim would be catered to.”
Horror passed over Ruth’s face as it contorted, and her eyes went wide. She remained mute, unable to form words in her mouth.
“All you need to do is give me a small piece of actionable intelligence. Just the smallest little bit. I’ll get you off this rock and into a better life in the League.”
I could tell them our cell leader’s name. He died in the attack. It wouldn’t be wrong. Despite everything she had been taught and believed in, the offer tempted her. I could do worse. I’m lucky something worse hasn’t already happened, with the stories some of the other girls have.
“What do you say?”
If I do this, I’ll be dead inside. I might still be alive as a human, but everything that makes me who I am will be gone. Ruth considered the battle within raging between the desire to make it all stop and the determination to do what was right. She looked up and met the interrogator’s eyes; victory was painted across his face. Apparently, this was a tactic that had worked for him before.
“No,” Ruth said, the word at the same time whispered and shouted, as a cry of defiance.
“Foolish girl,” he replied with a snarl, jamming the device into her neck.
Horrific pain once again took hold of Ruth, and she thrashed against her restraints spastically, unable to control her body. Over and over, he jammed the prongs into various parts of her exposed skin. At some point, it all ran together, and she mercifully blacked out.
Susanna sat entirely still as Ruth finished relating the memory, a look of abject horror on her face. “I… I am so sorry,” she said quietly.
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” Ruth said, a single tear running down her cheek. “I’ve hated myself for it, all these years.”
“Why?” Susanna asked incredulously.
“Because I considered doing what he asked. It seemed so tantalizingly simple… give up a small amount of information they probably had anyway and escape it all to a life of luxury.”
“It would have tempted anyone.”
“Including you?”
&
nbsp; “Especially me,” Susanna replied. “Our bodies are weak. Compromises are easy to make.”
“Later that day, our Marines stormed the facility I was held in and rescued me. I never knew the name of the man that burst into my cell in power armor like the judgment of God, killing every Leaguer in sight. In that instant, I knew what I was going to do with myself. I was going to become a soldier, and I would make the Leaguers pay.”
“I think now I understand.”
“Not quite,” Ruth began. “You have to realize, even now, the hate still grips me. Later tonight, I’m going to kill my share of the enemy. I promise you I will see the face of the interrogator on every man and woman I shoot. At some point, I’ll probably enjoy it.”
Susanna put her hand on Ruth’s shoulder and gave it a sisterly squeeze. “I can’t imagine.
“We’ll both get through this. Things will be better on the other side, once the League has gotten the boot from Freiderwelt.”
“Maybe you need to change something inside of you?”
Ruth snorted. “Like what?”
“Forgiving yourself?”
“Someday.”
“Tomorrow will be no different unless you change today,” Susanna said.
“What are you, the oracle of truth now?” Ruth cracked, a small grin appearing on her face.
“No… just something my mother likes to say.”
“Sounds like a wise woman.”
“Get down here! We’ve got an op to run!” MacDonald interrupted, his voice sharp.
“Coming, Master Chief!” Ruth shouted back. “Ready for this?” she continued toward Susanna.
“Not really, but who's keeping score anyway?”
Ruth grinned and passed Susanna her helmet. “Want some help?”
“Please,” Susanna admitted, staring down at the helmet.
Ruth stood up, grasped the helmet in her hands, and put it over Susanna’s head. A moment later, the mechanism clicked and sealed with an audible beep.
“Wow,” Susanna said. “This is unreal.”
“Oh, it gets better. You can integrate your viewpoint into our little drones, see the battlefield from a hundred feet up, and conduct pinpoint strikes against the enemy.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Susanna replied as she stood.
“Let’s get down there so MacDonald doesn’t get an ulcer,” Ruth deadpanned, turning and dropping off the second story of the barn and onto the first with a thud. “Reporting for duty, Master Chief.”
“Nice of you to finally join us, Lieutenant. Do you need a massage or a facial?” MacDonald groused to scattered laughter from the rest of the team.
“That’s the best you’ve got, Master Chief?” Ruth shot back. “Would you like me to get you a gravlift chair, a cane, or your dentures?”
“Now that’s a burn,” Rostami interjected as he laughed loudly.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” MacDonald replied. “Mata! Get our guest a sidearm.”
A moment later, Mata appeared, holster in hand. “This is a standard-issue CDF sidearm,” he said to Susanna. “I believe the lieutenant familiarized you with its function?”
She reached out and took the holster. “She did, Chief.”
“Loaded and ready to use,” he said with satisfaction. “I’d recommend attaching to your right leg for ease of draw.”
Ruth watched as the girl fumbled with the strap, eventually securing it to her thigh. “Good. Hopefully, you won’t need to use it.”
“You got any more of whatever you’re smoking, LT? I could use some before this op,” MacDonald deadpanned, again drawing laughter from the team.
“Seriously, you want her to have to kill someone?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t,” MacDonald said. “I do want her to know exactly what she’s getting into, though. This isn’t a damn milk run. We’ll be lucky if half of us survive, much less if we accomplish our objective. Now, everyone ready?”
“Locked and loaded, Master Chief,” Meissner announced.
“Ready, Master Chief,” Ruth replied through gritted teeth.
“Then let’s go. Two-hour hike ahead of us.”
Ruth settled into the back of the formation, Susanna just ahead of her. Keeping her head on a swivel as they made their way, silence reigned. Lost in her thoughts, Ruth tried to clear her mind of revenge to focus solely on the task at hand.
23
Walking into the hangar bay, Kenneth carried a box with the prototype of the bolt assembly, visibly struggling with its weight. A hundred meters later, he dropped the container with a thud next to the Phantom fighter that bore Amir’s name.
“Try not to damage it before installation, Mr. Lowe,” Major Richard Hume, the XO of the Lion’s fighter wing, called down. He wore a standard CDF flight suit and had an clear British accent. “I don’t want to be billed for another unit.”
“Ask Colonel Amir, Major… I don’t play those games,” Kenneth responded curtly. “One mating mechanism with explosive bolt, at your service, gentlemen.”
“How many do we need per fighter and bomber?” Amir asked, climbing down the ladder from his cockpit.
“Three per fighter, four per bomber. My team has taken over cargo bay three for fabrication. Every 3D print array on this ship is working on the same design as we speak.”
“You’re sure it works?” Hume asked.
“Yes. My team tested it out on one of the spare fighters, below decks.”
Amir cleared his throat. “I don’t have to tell you… if these devices fail, my pilots will be nothing more than targets for slaughter.”
Kenneth held up his hands. “Colonel, I get it. Let me walk you through it, okay?” At Amir’s nod, he continued, pulling the device out of its box and gesturing to pieces of it. “The mechanism is micro-welded onto the underbelly of the craft and has a remote control. We’ll install that into the cockpit of each fighter or bomber. The control is straightforward. It’s got two buttons. The red one activates the micro-welder packs built into the bottom plate and fuses it to the merchant ship. Green button activates the explosive charge… whamo, you’re back in action,” he finished, dropping it back into the container.
“Simple at least,” Hume commented. “I like simple when it comes to some new gizmo.”
“I’m more worried about having weld patches next to explosives. What if they mix?” Amir said.
“Sir, they won’t. We ran hundreds of computer simulations against the design,” Kenneth insisted.
“Computers aren’t the real world,” Amir replied bluntly. “When engineers fail to take into consideration all possible outcomes, people like my pilots and me are the ones that pay the price, usually in blood.”
“With respect, sir. I wouldn’t give you something I wouldn’t use myself.”
“You’d sit in a bomber with this device being employed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Seems honest enough,” Hume replied.
I haven’t worked with this guy much, or any of the pilots, for that matter. I suppose I should change that, so we have a better working relationship. “I try my best, Major.”
“When can you get the rest completed?” Amir questioned.
“Two to three hours, sir. I need your help with something, though.”
“What might that be, Mr. Lowe?”
“A couple of S&R shuttles with lockout chambers. I want to have some technical personnel in spacesuits perform EVAs and spot check the welds during deployment.”
“I’ll be happy to provide them, as well as engineers from the Lion’s military crew to access the devices with your team.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Kenneth replied. “Anything else, gentlemen?”
“No, thanks for bringing this thing over to show us,” Amir said. “Good luck finishing them up.”
Kenneth nodded respectfully before picking up the box once more. “Godspeed.”
“Inshallah Allah,” Amir stated.
I wish we had
more time to test these things. Kenneth trudged across the deck. Super-computer testing will have to be enough for now.
A few hours later, Kenneth sat in the co-pilot seat of an S&R craft, piloted by a no-nonsense warrant officer named Kadesh. They were on their fourth checkout test of one of the larger bombers, which required four devices. Glancing out of the cockpit windows, he marveled at how massive the merchant ship looked with them directly on top of its hull.
“Made it to the first bolt assembly,” Harold Billings, a long-time team leader and good friend, said in his gravelly voice, which echoed through the cockpit’s commlink speakers.
“Run a mass spectrometer test against the weld,” Kenneth said into the mic in his helmet; everyone on the craft wore a combat spacesuit in case of decompression.
“Boss, I’ve been doing this awhile.”
“Sorry, Master Chief,” Kenneth replied, a bit chastened. “Sweating this one. I wish we’d had more time to test it in real-world conditions.”
“Those computer simulations supposedly test what, ten quadrillion different variables?” Billings said. “Best virtual testing money can buy.”
“Yeah, but the real world almost always tosses something extra in.”
“Maybe God will smile on this particular bit of creative engineering.”
Kenneth cracked a smile. “Let’s hope.”
“I’m seeing the proper metallic makeup of a solid micro-weld here, boss. Moving on to the second device.”
God help us if these don’t work. Kenneth stared straight ahead, trying to pass the time. Kadesh had proven to be impossible to talk to; he wasn’t interested in giving more than one-word answers, and only if prodded. “The second device is good, boss,” Billings said through the commlink.
“Acknowledged, Master Chief.”
“Why do you call him that?” Kadesh asked, the first question he’d posed since they started the flight.
Kenneth glanced over at the pilot. “Because he’s an older guy, keeps the kids in line, and teaches them what they need to know. That’s what a Master Chief does, right?”