Chapter Twenty-Three
Stree Prime
Stree Naval Headquarters
Unlike the day before, Fawa’s Tuesday morning briefing was conducted in Rita’s conference room, next to her office suite. Rita sat at the head of the table, with Tika and Rachel next to her. Fawa stood at the other end of the room before a large display, conducting the briefing. For thirty minutes, Fawa went over reports from every significant signals location both in-system and in the distant Fleet, ensuring that Rita was up to date on everything. He closed by noting that the Stree Fleet was now only three days away from their assault on Stalingrad.
But he did not mention the Armidale or the status of her crew.
It became obvious the briefing was drawing to a close. Rita spoke silently to Tika and Rachel via her radio link.
Tika replied.
With a slight flourish of his tablet, Fawa completed his briefing and stood, silent, waiting for any comment from Rita. Trying to appear realistic in her role, Rita asked several questions about their operations and their daily responsibilities. But there was nothing exceedingly difficult about her role, she soon realized. Her unit had responsibility for ensuring messages flowed smoothly across the Fleet. Messages received from distant stations were routed and filed. It was a simple process with a professional staff.
“Not a bad operation,” Rita noted as she, Tika and Rachel returned to her office, closing the door behind them. “Fawa runs a tight ship.”
“Yes, he takes his job seriously,” said Rachel. “A career officer.”
began Rita.
Rachel nodded.
Rita grinned widely.
Tika looked at her in horror.
Rita shook her head, still smiling.
Phoenix System
800 Lights from Stalingrad
In orbit 22,000 miles above the Human colony, Tatiana, Gillian, and Misha sat with Beto, the Goblin assigned as a non-voting adviser to the Council. They listened in shock as Beto finished telling them about Turgenev’s coup and his full takeover of the colony.
“And he’s declared himself Governor?”
“Yes,” replied Beto. “Turgenev is now Governor. He declared the Council disbanded. His militia has taken over every apartment block and put his goons in charge. They’re recruiting more members for their gang. And anyone who objects too loudly has a sudden accident.”
Tatiana looked at Misha.
“We can’t let this stand, Misha. We have to fight them.”
“I know, milaya. But how?”
Tatiana closed her eyes momentarily, a habit of hers when thinking hard. Opening her eyes again, she spoke to the group.
“If we can take an entire planet from the Ashkelon, we can certainly take a small colony from this Russian prick.”
Looking at Beto, she asked the obvious question.
“Will the Goblins help us in this?”
Beto shook his head.
“We cannot take sides in such an altercation between Humans. You will have to work this out yourselves.”
“But,” Tatiana wondered, “will you at least provide us with transport to the surface?”
“That much we can do,” Beto said. “I will order the transport captain to follow your wishes in that regard.”
“Good,” said Tatiana. She looked at Misha. “OK. Let’s call a meeting of the colonists and tell them what’s going on.”
Calling a meeting was not that simple, however. Transport Five was - well, a transport. There was no area with enough space to assemble a large group of the colonists for a meeting.
But they were saved by the foresight of Jim Carter and Mark Rodgers. Weeks ago, before the first transport ship had left Stalingrad, Jim had insisted they organize the colonists into a militia. After all, he said - they had no way of knowing what they would find on Phoenix. No way of knowing what challenges they would face on a new and virgin planet. No way of knowing if dangerous animals had been missed in the initial surveys. No way of knowing if the Stree would attack them shortly after their arrival. In the end, Mark had told Jim to go ahead and do it.
And of course, Jim Carter was a former Marine. There was never any doubt in his mind as to how the militia should be organized. As a result of Jim’s forward thinking, the colonists were already divided into squads, platoons, companies, and battalions, based on the rapid maneuver model of the Marine Corps. They had loaded into the ship that way; mad silliness to some, but to others a reassuring form of much-needed order.
Now Jim’s planning paid off. Tatiana didn’t have to assemble thousands of colonists in a central location. All she had to do was make a call over the PA system. Within two hours, she was in the cafeteria of Transport Five, standing in front of a small group of people. Before her sat twelve company commanders. They represented the 1,658 members of the militia organized on the transport before their departure from Stalingrad.
Uncertain what was happening, concerned because off-loading of colonists to the surface hadn’t started yet, the group stared in puzzlement at the tall, imposing woman standing before them. As Tatiana waited for everyone to arrive, an undercurrent of voices rumbled across the people seated before her. In a mixture of uncertainty, irritation and anger, the people muttered among themselves, impatient to understand what was happening.
Tatiana Powell could be a deceiving figure. Her half-Ukrainian, half-English features gave her a somewhat exotic, Slavic appearance. Her tall, muscular body left one with the impression of an athlete, perhaps a former gymnast or wrestler. The last thing any stranger would suspect was that she was a warrior.
But appearances can be deceiving, and those who knew Tatiana’s history knew what she was: most recently, an Admiral in the now-defunct EDF - and before that, the general of guerrilla forces fighting the Ashkelon on Deriko.
Sent to the Ashkelon as a slave by the Ukrainians, she had started with a small cadre of only a few hundred women from her slave ship. From that nucleus, she had put together a resistance movement and fought the Ashkelon at Deriko, growing her army until she had 80,000 soldiers under her command. Then she had marched halfway around the planet, freeing upwards of 300,000 slaves from four species, killing or capturing every Ashkelon she could find. After a few months of fighting her, the seven-foot-tall, leonine-like Ashkelon had given her a nickname - ‘Walking Death’.
Now, as the last of the colonists arrived, Tatiana turned, pushed one of the cafeteria tables into position in front of them, and lightly jumped on it, turning to face the group.
“Hello everyone,” she called. “I’m going to use English today because I believe the majority of you understand it, or h
ave a translation earpiece.” She pointed to her ears. “If everyone who understands me will raise their hand, please.”
Scanning the crowd, Tatiana saw that everyone had their hand up.
“Good, thank you,” she continued. “If anyone has difficulty understanding me during this presentation, just raise your hand and I’ll repeat myself.
“Now - the bad news. A group of thugs - a gang, if you will - has taken over Phoenix. They’ve imprisoned the legal government and set up their own dictatorship. They’re running wild on the surface - killing people, raping women, collecting slaves - all the things you’d imagine from a gang of thugs. We’ve managed to get some intel back from people on the ground. I’m sending the details to your tablets right now.” Tatiana nodded at Gillian, who triggered the transmission. Her audience looked down, examining the photos and vids. Several of them shuddered and looked away.
“So here’s the important thing: do you want a democracy on Phoenix? Do you want to protect our individual freedoms? Or do you want a dictatorship run by a group of thugs?
“To help you decide, let me give you the picture of your future with each. First let’s talk about a democracy. We all know there is no perfect system, right? And democracies have their own set of problems. There will be inequities. There will be conflict. The inevitable, never-ending battle between the rich, trying to claw more and more of the society’s wealth for themselves, and the poor, trying to retain some of it for their own families. The inevitable distrust between races, leading to race conflict. The inevitable battles between ignorant cliques trying to force stupid, selfish decisions on the society, and the wiser heads trying to hold them back.
“Now let me contrast that with the dictatorship that is forming below us on the surface. An oligarchy of thugs and sadists. Holding your sons and daughters under their thumb for the rest of their lives. Your sons working in the fields as slave labor. Your daughters relegated to assault, rape, and slavery at the whim of their lords. Those who voice the slightest dissent killed; their bodies disappearing, never to be seen again.”
Tatiana stopped speaking for a moment. She gazed around the group as they sat in shocked silence, trying to come to grips with her words.
“I’m not going to make this decision for you. I cannot. I can only tell you what is happening, and what the future will bring. You and your people must decide what to do next. There are only two choices. Go back to your quarters, accept your fate, and prepare to be enslaved. Or go back to your quarters, mobilize your people, and prepare to fight.
“Time is short. We must act quickly if we are to have any hope of stopping this coup before it gets too firmly established. If we move quickly and decisively, we can do it. If we hesitate, move too slowly, fail to attack them as aggressively as possible, we will not be able to dislodge them.
“Therefore, we will make a final decision at 1800 hours tonight. That gives you six hours to go back to your people, discuss the situation with them, and make a decision. I wish I could give you more time, but I can’t. If we are to win the battle, we must attack immediately. And make no mistake about it - this will be a battle. People will die. This is not a game, nor an adventure. This is survival.
“So. Go back to your people. Tell them the situation. And ask them the question. Democracy or dictatorship. Fight or roll over. An imperfect system of democracy - or a perfectly imperfect system of slavery.”
Tatiana fell silent. She looked at the individuals seated before her. These were people who had shown leadership during the trying times of the evacuation from Earth, and the confusing days on Stalingrad getting things organized. These were survivors; strong, robust people who instinctively knew what had to be done and stepped forward to do it. Slowly, with almost no conversation, they got up from their seats and headed to the door to take the word to the people.
Stree Prime
Great Cathedral of the Stree
Even for a Stree, Head Jailer Cotrapi was fat. So fat, he looked square - a big, fat, Stree with arms like a tree trunk, a huge Buddha-like belly sticking out, and a great fat head stuck on his shoulders leaving no discernible neck at all.
And Cotrapi was in a bad mood. Things had been going along swimmingly for him recently - living his pleasurable, run-of-the-mill life holding his run-of-the-mill Stree prisoners until their short trials and quick executions. On Stree Prime, it didn’t take much to be sent to the special dungeon in the deepest part of the Cathedral basement.
There were hundreds of religious offenses that could get you killed. Even accidentally meeting the Great Prophet’s eyes was sufficient cause if you were not a priest.
But having eight Human prisoners suddenly appear in his prison had terribly upset Cotrapi’s carefully organized routine. Now, staring at Jim Carter and the other Humans in the cell, he was pissed. He had already tortured two of the Humans to death; but the ape-like creatures had told him nothing that he didn’t already know.
And Prophet Tarilli was putting a lot of pressure on him to get answers.
Keying a translation device worn around his neck, Cotrapi spoke to the prisoners.
“Humans. You seem to be a frail species. How many more of you must I kill, until you tell me your mission?”
In the cell, the six remaining Humans looked at him sullenly, barely understanding the broken English coming out of the device. None bothered to rise from their rock-hard bunks. Cotrapi tried to watch all of them at once, to pick up on any sign of weakness he could exploit in his torture sessions; but none of them flinched.
Cotrapi sighed. “Very well. You have chosen your fate. I will take another of you tomorrow.”
Once again, Cotrapi watched carefully. None of the six Humans in the cell showed any reaction to his words. In disgust, Cotrapi turned and marched away, his two aides at his heels.
Watching him go, Jim Carter lifted his head slightly to look across the cell at Captain Stewart. They all assumed the cell was bugged, so were being careful with their words.
“Really glad I didn’t convert to Goblin before this trip,” Jim said with a slight smile.
Stewart nodded. “Yeah. They sure are paranoid about Goblins. A one-way trip straight into the star. They wouldn’t even bring them to their planet as prisoners.”
“Why not?” asked Brady, Stewart’s XO.
“Afraid they’ll take over their computers and get into their systems,” Jim grunted. “They’re terrified of Goblins.”
“But clearly not terrified of us Humans,” Stewart interjected.
“Yeah,” Jim nodded glumly. “Not sure if that’s bad or good, the way things are going. Maybe being launched into the star would have been better.”
Great Cathedral of the Stree
Tika moved carefully. She knew the danger she faced. The slightest mistake, the smallest miss-step, and she would be discovered as a Goblin. And as events with the Armidale had proven, the Stree were deathly afraid of Goblins, and wasted no time disposing of them.
She had entered the Cathedral late in the evening, a half-hour before the huge edifice closed its doors for the day. At the entrance, she had studied a map mounted on the wall, recording it in her memory. Then she walked toward the front of the basilica, using her infrared vision and radar to locate all the cameras, motion detectors and other sensors in the huge hall.
Moving to the front of the basilica, Tika joined several other Stree before the altar. Kneeling, she pretended to pray.
In her pocket, the two one-inch-long caterpillar aspects that contained Rita and Rachel responded.
Tika prayed for ten minutes, until only herself and a couple of others remained. Rising to her feet, she genuflected per the Stree ritual, turned, and made her way toward the door on the far right. Tika, although still in the body of the
male Stree officer Pamasa, had changed to civilian clothing. As she approached, the priest moved to a position of alertness and challenged her.
“The exit is the other way, sir,” he said.
“I need to use the restroom urgently,” Tika said. “Is there one nearby?”
The priest paused, then nodded grudgingly. “Through this door to your right.”
Tika nodded and passed through the door. The priest came in behind her and moved to the door of the restroom. He leaned forward, opened it for her, and took a position outside the door to wait for her.
Tika moved to a stall and pretended to do her business, scanning the room as she did.
Casually, Tika took the two caterpillars out of her pocket and laid them gently on the floor behind the toilet. Then she turned, went to the lavatory, washed her hands, and left the restroom, ensuring she turned out the lights as she departed. As she nodded a silent thanks to the priest and left through the door to the main basilica, she sent one last message to the two behind her.
In the darkened restroom, two tiny caterpillars waited behind the toilet, motionless.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Phoenix System
800 Lights from Stalingrad
“They’ve voted,” said Gillian. She sat in the cafeteria of Transport Five with Tatiana, Misha, Beto, and Taito, the Goblin captain of the transport. “The result was as we expected. The colonists voted to fight. The commanders are organizing right now, getting things ready. They say they can be ready to drop by tomorrow noon.”
“Weapons?” asked Tatiana.
“About seven hundred rifles and pistols. The rest are making swords, knives, clubs, whatever they can put together.”
“Seven hundred,” Tatiana mused. “What’s our estimate of the firearms on the surface?”
Remnants: Broken Galaxy Book Five Page 17