by D. M. Pruden
“Oh, sorry. This channel is a little scratchy. I’m Hayden Kaine.”
One of the soldiers separated himself from the three in front of him and stood directly before him, peering through Hayden’s visor. “Why are you here?”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
Though he’d been prepared for rough handling, the blow from behind was unexpected. Knocked from his feet, he flew two metres from the force of the impact, ending up sprawled in a cloud of dust.
A faint hiss near where he was struck informed him that his suit was torn. He tried to locate the tear with his hand, but it was just out of his reach.
The man who hit him strode over and seized him by his elbow. Hayden kicked out, knocking the soldier’s leg out from under him. Two more advanced and grabbed both of his arms, pinning him to the ground.
“My suit is leaking!”
As the soldiers struggled to hold him down, the leader approached and squatted on his haunches. “Well, that is unfortunate. Perhaps if you prove cooperative with your answers, we’ll patch you up before your blood boils.”
“My name is Lieutenant Hayden Kaine, first officer of the UEF cruiser Scimitar, serial number 034D-7688R.”
“This ship isn’t military,” he said, indicating Hayden’s craft.
“We’re not from this system. We’ve been in subluminal transit for the past ten years.”
“So you’re telling me your uniform is real; you really are UEF?”
“Yes, who else would I be with?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
Hayden started to shiver as the temperature in his suit dropped with the air pressure. He tested the grip that restrained him for a moment before deciding a struggle would only use up his oxygen.
“That’s better. Now, why are you here?”
“I was scouting this moon for raw materials I need for repairs.”
“What kind of material?”
“Our rail gun is out of projectiles. We need tungsten and titanium for fixing structural damage.”
“Why are you out of bullets?”
“Because some idiots have been shooting at us since our arrival.”
“Where is your ship now?”
Hayden suddenly realized these soldiers were not Stromm’s, who would know exactly where Scimitar was. As the escaping air continued to hiss in his ear, he decided on a wild gambit. If he was wrong, they might kill him, but it would be faster than suffocating.
“You guys are with Malkovich’s forces, aren’t you?”
The man who questioned him leaned menacingly over Hayden and pressed down on his chest.
“Your ship; where is it?”
“It’s in orbit around the gas giant. We’re playing dead, trying not to draw too much attention from the cruiser searching for you.”
“Yours is the one the battle was about?”
“One and the same.”
“You assholes baited us; drew us into a trap.”
“Is there a question in that?”
“Smartass!”
“Listen, we can stay here and play twenty questions, but by the time you get to the interesting ones, I’ll be unconscious or dead. Can we please patch up my suit?”
His interrogator hovered over him, face unreadable behind the combat visor.
“Look,” said Hayden, fighting his rising panic and trying to sound conciliatory, “I promise I have a lot of stuff to tell you, but it will take more time than I have air left. I really will make the information worth your while.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t simply tear off your helmet now and finish you.”
Hayden could no longer feel his extremities, and his chest was beginning to congest. These guys intended to kill him. He had to try something.
“Because our bosses are kin. Cousins, in fact. Let me die, and you’ll piss off my captain. I guarantee that won’t end well for you.”
The soldier stood and studied him, clearly weighing his options and the potential costs of making a wrong decision. He hoped the man would make up his mind before it was too late.
Finally, he motioned for Hayden to be lifted to his feet. “Take him inside.”
The words confused him. Had they gained access to his ship after all? Not until they marched him in the opposite direction did he realize they meant something else.
With blurring vision, he scanned the landscape ahead, seeing nothing but smaller craters and rocks peppering the regolith. For a moment, the horizon and star field above it wavered out of focus before they vanished completely, replaced by an open hatchway and an airlock suspended in space.
It took his oxygen-starved brain a few seconds to put the pieces together; he was being taken to a cloaked ship like the ones that had attacked Scimitar. If he had harboured any doubt before, he was now positive that he was a captive of Malkovich’s troops. Things were about to get very interesting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Very Few Secrets Remain
HAYDEN WAS SHOVED into the cabin of the small ship and forced onto an acceleration couch. After he was slapped in restraints and strapped in, one guard kept a weapon pointed at him while the others took off their helmets.
Finally, when everyone had assumed a station or location, the man who was the group’s commander removed Hayden’s helmet.
He gulped in air. Gradually, his lungs stopped burning and the sensation returned to his fingers and toes, hot, stinging pricks of pain that reminded him he still lived.
The man who stood over him was a grizzled veteran. His gaunt, lined face sported a couple of days of greying whiskers. What little hair his short, military cut revealed was salt-and-pepper. He guessed that the man was a Ranger by his manner and appearance; mid-to-late forties, he estimated. Despite the rough handling dealt him, the commander showed a degree of deference to Hayden, suggesting he was a squad sergeant or warrant officer, someone who respected an officer’s rank, if not the person who carried it.
Without a word, he checked Hayden’s restraints before strapping himself in for launch and giving the pilot a brisk nod. The familiar push of acceleration told Hayden they’d lifted from the surface, taking him he knew not where.
Though the leader did not appear to be armed, the man who sat across from him cradled a flechette rifle and never took his eyes from Hayden. He tried a smile on the stone-faced soldier before averting his gaze and studying his own feet.
From the interior configuration and lack of windows, he recognized the ship as a small dropship. He’d spent time in his early days at the academy fighting nausea in them. This one smelled a lot better than those training vessels, probably since none of this bunch had vomited in it like raw cadets.
Once launched and underway, the commander retrieved two bottles of water and handed one to him before settling back into his seat. Hayden greedily gulped the lukewarm liquid, savouring the sensation as it washed over his tongue and down his parched throat.
He toyed with asking questions but reconsidered after careful thought. It was obvious from the silence that the man planned to let somebody else interrogate him at their destination. As much as he wanted to learn what these men had been through over the last decade, he didn’t believe they would be in a sharing mood with a prisoner. The less he said, the less he risked giving away. He took the opportunity to work on his story for later and hoped that Malkovich didn’t condone torture.
After what he estimated to be ten minutes of travel, they decelerated and descended once more. They’d never left the weak pull of gravity, so they were somewhere on the same moon.
A familiar bump informed him that they’d landed, and moments later the commander stood and released Hayden’s seat harness. He was escorted through the airlock and into a hangar. Looking up, he noted the outline of a large set of doors and concluded that they were in some kind of concealed, underground base. A firm push from behind reminded him of who his hosts were, and he curbed his curious impulses.
He was led t
hrough a warren of tunnels cut into the rock until he arrived at a small room. A table stood in the middle with uncomfortable-looking chairs on either side. To his relief, he did not see any brackets for restraint. He was instructed to sit, facing the doorway, and left alone with a single soldier guarding the exit.
It was not long before the door opened and a man not much older than himself entered. He wore an officer’s uniform, though with similar modifications as the others. The rank epaulet suggested the man was a major in what would have one time been the intelligence corps. He studied Hayden for a moment before sitting in the chair opposite him and placing a data pad between them.
“You informed the sergeant that you are a United Earth Forces officer, is that correct?”
“Lieutenant Hayden Kaine—”
“A simple yes or no to my questions will suffice, Mister Kaine, or whatever your name may be.”
“I am Hayden Kaine.”
Ignoring him, the major continued. “You are from the UEF Scimitar?”
Hayden sat back and crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“Who is your captain?”
“Yegor Pavlovich.”
“Describe him.”
“What?”
“Please tell me what he looks like.”
“Well, he’s about two metres tall, fit, weighs around a hundred kilos. Sports a big black bushy beard...well, perhaps more salt-and-pepper these days. A real grumpy son-of-a-bitch.”
“How long have you served under Captain Pavlovich?”
Hayden paused. In truth, his total time actually spent aboard Scimitar had only been a few months.
“A little over ten years.”
“What is your father’s name?”
He frowned. “What does my father have to do with anything?”
“Please answer the question.”
“Walden Kaine.”
“Who issued the order assigning you to Scimitar?”
“Admiral Thomas. What the hell is this all about?”
They stared across the table at each other, the major’s face inscrutable. Hayden was the first to break eye contact.
“Account for the whereabouts of your ship since its departure from Mu Arae.”
Hayden sighed and began the well-rehearsed narrative that he and the rest of the crew had committed to memory.
The officer made a notation on the data pad. “Describe the events that unfolded upon your arrival in this system.”
Perspiration ran down the small of Hayden’s back. This was something that nobody had anticipated, and he had no memorized story to regurgitate.
“The captain was aware that his cousin was assigned here at the time of the network collapse. He contacted him when we got here, and a rendezvous was coordinated. Prior to the arrival of his—your ships, we were intercepted by another fleet. They captured us and engaged your forces when they arrived.”
“Did your captain resist the other ships?”
“As I told the sergeant, our munitions are depleted and our primary drive is damaged, limiting the power to our lasers.”
“So you surrendered.”
“They were a superior force. We didn’t survive a decade in deep space to spend our lives fighting a lost cause. Of course we did.”
“Where are your ship and crew now?”
“We had a radiation leak. They were evacuated to one of the other ships, and Scimitar was parked in orbit to await a repair vessel.”
The major smiled and leaned forward.
“And how did you come to be found on this moon?”
“The captain did not wish to leave our vessel unoccupied, thus opening it up to salvage. A skeleton crew of volunteers remained behind. Since the radioactive threat is significant, we decided to try limiting our exposure. Each of us was to take a shift searching this system’s moons for some of the materials we need. I was the first one.”
His interrogator examined something on his pad. “Explain why the ship we found you with is not a military vessel.”
“We reprovisioned before departing Mu Arae. We replaced a damaged dropship with it.”
The major nodded, half attentively, as he continued to read. He looked up and smiled. “Why have you no active LINK?”
“It was defective, and I had it deactivated.”
“What was your original mission to Mu Arae?”
“We were to recover a scientist and return him to the Sol system.”
“Were you successful?”
Yes or no. That was all the simple question required, but Hayden had no idea which was the correct one. It was clear from the line of questioning that this man knew far more about Scimitar, her crew complement, and her mission than expected. The events in the last few hours prior to the battle with the Malliac were frenetic. Volunteers had been dispatched to Earth and a couple of the key systems to apprise them of the situation and warn of the impending collapse of the light gate network. Nobody was sent here, to Pictor, but if word had reached here before...
“Yes, we located Doctor Gabriel and recovered his research. The information was transmitted to Fleet Command immediately before the disaster. Unfortunately, he died a short time later.” A small embellishment. No point in mentioning the encounter with the Glenatat.
The major stared at him. The seconds of silence ticked on. Hayden struggled to maintain his composure and dared not be the first to break eye contact.
Finally, the officer picked up the data pad and stood. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant Kaine. You will be provided quarters and given an opportunity to change into something more comfortable than your damaged suit. General Malkovich expects to meet with you in two hours.”
He departed, leaving Hayden alone with the guard. He had no idea what had just transpired, and that worried him more than his captivity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Malkovich
THE COLLAR CHAFED. Except for the patch on the shoulder, the uniform they gave him was standard officer’s kit. It even sported a lieutenant’s epaulette, prompting salutes from the armed Rangers he encountered as he was escorted through the catacombs. The only difference was the crest that replaced that of the UEF. For Hayden, that alone was enough to make him feel like a traitor.
He had discovered it laid out on the bunk when he emerged from the shower. Concerned that he was being observed, he masked his revulsion as his finger traced the outline of the unfamiliar emblem patch. His mind wandered to thoughts of his father and what his words would have been on the matter. For generations, Kaines were raised to be staunch patriots and defenders of the Confederacy. To see it fragmented must have devastated him. To know that his own son was responsible for it would have killed him.
Hayden understood and respected the Confederation; its emblems, flags, coats of arms, and insignia were all pregnant with centuries of tradition. It had all been drilled into him since he could remember. The Kaine name was forever linked to the empire, for his family had been key players in its history. To say that it all was a part of his makeup would not have been an exaggeration.
But this new flag—he had no knowledge of what it stood for. He understood the meaning and commitment associated with wearing the UEF uniform, but this abomination merely made him feel like taking another shower.
The ironic thing about his reaction was that he hadn’t always felt this way. During his youth, and later after graduation from the academy, he regarded everything the Confederation represented with ambivalence. He knew his future was intricately intertwined with its institutions, and he was destined to serve—perhaps even govern one day. It was a canvas upon which his own achievements would be painted. But the ideals of patriotism that his grandfather and father shared had never been his.
Not until everything was lost.
Hayden spent ten years contemplating the consequences of his actions. He alone had brought crashing down what his family helped build. In their eyes, he would be a worse traitor than the men who wore this uniform. They only did so because they had
no other hope. Perhaps a variation of this scenario was playing out in every star system that had once been a part of the great empire: billions of people forced to abandon ties to the home world for something less, merely to survive. The idea made him ill.
And yet what a decade of wandering in self-imposed exile attempted to teach him—what Stella had tried to convince him of—was that had he not acted, everything would be much worse.
Then along came Pavlovich, with his promise of a new dawn, a chance to rebuild everything and root out the evil he claimed rotted the Confederacy’s core. If what he said were true, perhaps reestablishing FTL capability would be a mistake. Maybe humanity needed to take some time wandering as a diaspora in the wilderness; isolating the conspirators in different systems; letting the cancer die with them.
He wished he knew what the correct course of action was, but he had more immediate concerns to dwell on. He was still a captive among people who most likely planned to murder him—people who might do so if they learned the truth about him. Even as he was escorted to his audience with Malkovich, every soldier he encountered regarded him with suspicion. He was an outsider and not to be trusted.
Hayden was not safe—this he understood. What he couldn’t understand was how his status had changed from prisoner to guest.
He replayed the interrogation in his mind for the tenth time, finding no new clue to help solve the mystery. The questioning had been targeted; the major was aware of far more than he pretended to know. Perhaps the impending meeting with the rebel leader, Malkovich, would shed some light, though he had his doubts. The man was, after all, related to Pavlovich.
He approached a metal door set into the rock of the tunnel. One of his escorts rapped on it, and seconds later, it was pulled open to admit them.
The room Hayden entered was nothing like he expected. The quarters he just came from were spartan, little more than an alcove carved into the bedrock and fitted with a bunk and a crude shower that hardly managed to drip enough cold water to get him wet. The labyrinth of corridors he traversed were functional and austere. The entire facility showed the signs of being constructed hastily to provide a hideout from Stromm’s forces.