“Don’t put him in with Tallgrass,” Dean said, holding the back of his head and leaning forward so that his nose didn’t drip onto his insulated bodysuit any more than it already had.
“Yes sir, and I won’t remove the restraints, either,” Parker replied. “He tries anything and I’ll shove that Arkansas toothpick up his sorry ass.”
“We better get you to the med bay,” Adkins said as he hurried up beside Dean. “That cut on the back of your head is going to need stitches.”
“Looks like you broke your nose there, too,” Ghost said, ambling up on the other side of Dean.
“Help Captain Grant to the med bay, too,” Dean said.
“You should have let Captain Parker fight him,” Adkins said. “She’s a badass.”
“Tell me about it,” Dean said, stepping back into his battle armor.
Adkins helped him pull it up over his shoulder and fastened the snaps, while Ghost helped Captain Grant, who could barely stay on his feet.
“Major,” said HA Specialist Winkler. “May we help get the captain to the med bay?”
“Sure,” Dean said. “But don’t carry him. Walking will do him some good.”
“Yes, sir,” the big specialist said, snapping off a salute.
Dean returned the salute and then began the slow walk back around the ring toward the Hannibal. He had accomplished what he set out to do. His anger at Captain Grant was gone, and in its place he felt a mild sense of guilt. He couldn’t help but wonder if Esma had been right all along, and maybe there was a better way to deal with Grant. Having bested him in a fair fight didn’t make Dean feel better; it certainly wasn’t as satisfying as he had thought it would be when Grant was insulting him. Still, things had gone his way in the fight, and while he had taken his share of lumps, he had come out on top. If Grant couldn’t respect him after the fight, he would have to be removed from duty. Dean decided not to think about that and instead focused all his attention on getting to the med bay. He needed a painkiller, sleep, food, and a long walk with Esma, in exactly that order, but something told him he would be lucky to get two or three of those before the next crisis hit.
Chapter 33
“You did what?” Chavez asked. His voice was weak but still had the humorous swagger Dean was so familiar with.
“I fought him,” Dean said.
He was in a reclining chair next to Chavez’s bed in the med bay. He had a large bandage around his head, one eye was swollen shut, and his nose was broken, but with a little pain narcotic, he wasn’t suffering.
“You have got to be shitting me,” Chavez said. “You fought a captain?”
“I’m a Major,” Dean said. “It was my prerogative. Besides, it was the only way to get through to him.”
“You aren’t worried you’ll be in trouble with the brass when we get home?”
“We’re already in trouble with the brass,” Dean said. “And we’ll be lucky just to get home. If they want to strip me of my command and send me packing, so be it. I’ve got one mission to accomplish, and I need everyone focused. I can’t be spending all my time dealing with unruly platoon commanders.”
“I get shot in the gut and everyone goes crazy,” Chavez said.
“I think we went crazy before, and that’s why you got shot,” Dean said. “What’s the med tech telling you?”
“All the usual bullshit,” Chavez said. “Six to eight weeks to recover. He chopped off half my small intestines, and I’ll probably struggle to keep up my weight. Maybe I can return to duty, maybe not. Blah, blah, blah, I could care less. What I want to know is when the admirals are going to stop dragging their feet and let Eleanor go free.”
“She shot you, Joaquin. It’s not a simple matter.”
“But I heard the aliens confessed.”
“One did, but we still have to corroborate their story.”
“And how are going to do that?”
“I have to question the other one.”
“Well damn, Jefe! What are you doing here wasting time with me?”
“I’m recovering, you jackass,” Dean said in mock seriousness, which was ruined as he started to laugh. “I’m stoned at the moment.”
“I can see that,” Chavez said. “You’re a real piece of work sometimes, sir. A real piece of work.”
Two hours later, Dean was eating a plate of powdered eggs, sausage-flavored protein wafers, and what passed reasonably well for a biscuit. The drugs had begun to wear off, and Dean’s head throbbed with pain. Before he left the med bay, the tech had used a syringe to relieve the pressure around Dean’s swollen eye. He could open it and see just fine, although the eye looked like it was filled with blood and his cheekbone was bruised black. Both eyes would be blackened from his broken nose anyway, and the glue used to hold his scalp together had begun to itch. Dean wasn’t looking forward to wearing his TCU, although it would hide the battle scars and allow him to move about the ship without enduring all the strange looks.
He finished his breakfast and settled his helmet over his head before leaving the mess hall. Corporal Franklin had told him he needed a cold steak to put on his black eye, but there were no such luxuries as actual beefsteaks, so Dean was forced to do without. When he returned to the communications center he found Esma waiting for him. She was angry, and he knew why. Despite wining the fight, he had gotten injured and she blamed him for that. It was, in her opinion, a stupid way to deal with an insubordinate junior officer.
“Are you going to let me see?” were the first words out of her mouth.
“No need for that,” Dean said, dropping into his chair.
“That’s not what I heard. You know the entire ship is talking about the fight. There’s already bootleg video from someone’s battle armor on the task force network.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dean said, leaning past Esma to glare at Lieutenant Tate, who was suddenly very busy.
“And that you almost got killed by that lunatic Staff Sergeant Furoke,” she said, her voice accusing and angry. Dean wasn’t sure whom she was actually angry with. “What the hell happened, Dean? You said Recon Officers were honorable men, and that Grant would respect you if you fought him in a fair fight.”
“I stand by that,” Dean said. “It was his staff sergeant who tried to kill me.”
“This isn’t funny,” she said, dropping into his lap. “I hate that stupid armor.”
“It keeps me alive.”
“I want to see your face.”
Dean switched on the civilian setting that projected an image of his face onto the visor of his TCU. Esma gasped, but Dean shook his head.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Says you,” she replied. “I want to read the medical report. Is the damage to your eye permanent?”
“No,” Dean assured her. “It’s just bruised. The tech fixed everything. I just need a few days and I’ll be as good as new.”
“I’m really angry with you, Dean. That was a stupid risk to take.”
“Maybe so,” Dean said with a nod, “but it was one I felt I had to take. Maybe I was wrong, and I’m not proud of what we did, but I’m hopeful it worked.”
“I don’t understand it,” Esma replied. “And I don’t like it. There’s no dignity in two men fighting like animals.”
“I know, but it’s over and hopefully we can move forward on this mission. How are the remote piloting controls going? Any progress?”
“None,” Esma admitted. “We can’t seem to find a way to interface with their electronics and another issue has come up. You remember how their gravitational field interfered with our radio communications in the Alrakis system?”
“Oh yeah,” Dean said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, even if we get things to work, we’ll have to find a way to control the ships once they leave the gravity well around the Kroll vessel.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starting to worry that we may be in trouble, Dean. If we can’t remotely pilot the ships, we’ll have t
o send operators to their deaths to fire off the nukes.”
“Can you teach the Recon Specialists how to fly them?” Dean asked.
“Of course we can, but they won’t want to die any more than we do.”
“No one wants to die, but Recon Specialists are more likely to follow through in the face of death. Plus, our armor is more suited for that type of mission. They might survive firing off the nukes and getting away before the blast overtakes them.”
“I doubt it,” Esma said, “but I’m open to anything at this point.”
A message light flashed, and Dean activated it using facial gestures. It was a simple voice message from Harper. The wounded Pergantee was awake and ready to be questioned.
“I’ve got to interrogate the second Pergantee. You want to stick around?” Dean asked.
“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do,” Esma replied. “Will it see me?”
“Not unless you move behind me,” Dean said.
He worked the console on his desk and brought up the vid feed from the torture room where the alien was being held. Dean could see the medical equipment around the diminutive alien; its large black eyes focused on Dean’s image on the vid screen mounted above it.
“This is Major Dean Blaze, OWFR, interrogating the Pergantee on the E.S.D.F. Bushido. If you can hear me, turn your head from side to side.”
The alien looked surprised, as far as Dean could tell, and shook its head.
“Good. I’m going to be asking you questions. You can answer yes by nodding your head up and down like this,” Dean demonstrated the nod. “Or no by shaking your head the way you just did. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the alien said in a scratchy, oddly accented voice as it nodded.
Dean immediately hit the mute button on his console. “Holy shit, did you just hear that?” Dean asked Esma.
“I did,” she said, sounding as surprised as Dean felt.
He hit the button on his console to un-mute the vid feed. “Can you speak our language?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” the alien said again, nodding.
“What’s your name?” Dean asked.
“I’m called Querf,” it replied.
Dean checked to make sure the system was recording. His battle armor would record the entire interrogation, but Sergeant Fennes had configured the interrogation setup with a built-in record feature to give a better record of the interview. It was on and recording. Dean couldn’t help but feel a tingle of excitement. If they could converse with the alien, there was no limit to what they might learn from the creature.
“Alright Querf, I need to ask you some questions about your attempt to escape.”
“I understand,” the alien replied.
“Your kind uses strong extrasensory abilities to communicate, is that correct?”
The alien nodded.
“Can you control humans with this ability?”
“Some of my people can,” Querf said with a nod. “But only a small percentage.”
“Can you?” Dean asked.
“No,” the alien shook its head. “I have other skills.”
“Such as?”
“I am, what your species would call, a technician, or electro/mechanical engineer.”
“You build things,” Dean said. “Did you build this ship?”
“Not all of it. The Kroll crafted their own harvest pods and aviary. We were in charge of building the rest of the ship as they captured more material.”
“Were you prisoners?” Dean asked.
“No, not exactly,” Querf said. “Our world was conquered by the Kroll long ago. In exchange for our help with their ships, the Kroll leave us in peace.”
Dean felt as if the ancient secrets of the Pergantees had been opened to him suddenly. It was a heady feeling. Esma moved around behind the monitor, where Dean could see her over the top of the vid screen. She held up a sign that said: Perhaps he can help with the remote piloting hardware.
“So you are allies of the Kroll?” Dean asked.
“Not what you would call allies, and not slaves. It is a delicate relationship. We do what we must to survive.”
“Did the Kroll threaten you?”
“The Kroll threaten all life in this arm of the galaxy.”
“Querf, why didn’t you simply speak to us in this fashion when we questioned you before?”
“I was ordered not to reveal my ability to speak your language,” the alien replied.
“Ordered by who?”
“Relgath of the supreme caste.”
“The supreme caste?” Dean asked.
“Our people are divided by our function. I am creator caste, Relgath was supreme caste.”
“Was Relgath hiding with you in the tentacle?”
“No, that was Bon’a’grif. He is labor caste.”
“Why did you try to escape?”
“Relgath ordered it.”
“And the vessel in the tentacles—was that your way off the Kroll ship?”
“It is,” Querf said. “You have much knowledge, Major Dean Blaze. I take it you have questioned Bon’a’grif.”
“We have,” Dean admitted. “Do you recognize the room you’re in?”
The alien looked around, its eyes narrowing, and its face took on a savage look.
“This, I believe, is the biological laboratory.”
“What was done in that room?”
Querf didn’t answer right away. After a long pause he said, “Experimentation, dissection, and evaluation of captured species.”
“Your people tortured my people who were captured in the New Wales system.”
“Your people attacked the Kroll,” Querf responded. “I wish I could say that we were ordered to carry out those experiments, but that is the way of the learned caste. No insult was meant; we are a curious people.”
“My people view torture as especially heinous,” Dean said. “Many will struggle to see it from your perspective.”
“Are you not torturing me at this very moment?” Querf asked. “I am in pain, bound to this table in a cruel fashion.”
“Your extrasensory abilities made it necessary for us to use great caution in dealing with you. Harming you is not my intent.”
“Yet you are harming me. My body is not as resilient as yours.”
“Perhaps I can rectify your position, but I cannot risk falling under your control.”
“I have no way to control you, Major Dean Blaze. And that is not my intention.”
“What is your intention?”
“To survive.”
Dean hit the mute button again and sat back in his chair, trying to balance his compassion for the alien with his fear. He knew the Pergantees were dangerous and deceptive. He had no way of knowing if Querf was telling the truth. After a long pause, he hit the button to open communication again and leaned forward.
“Can you communicate with Bon’a’grif at this moment?” Dean asked.
“No, he is too far away. My abilities are limited in that area.”
“That’s interesting—he told me you could communicate.”
“That is impossible.”
“He told me the entire escape plan was your idea. Including forcing my specialist to shoot one of her platoon mates.”
“I am creator caste; I cannot force my will. You are mistaken, Major Dean Blaze.”
“You saw what we did to the rest of your people?” Dean asked.
“You exterminated them.”
“That is correct. It is what we will do to you if we feel threatened.”
“I am not a threat. Release me and I will leave this ship forever.”
“Where would you go?”
“Back to my people.”
“Where is that?”
“In the Hildegrath system, quadrant C6 relative to Zatootoo celestial plane.”
“I cannot simply let you leave,” Dean said. “There is nothing stopping you from returning to the Kroll and warning them of our plans.”
“I wou
ld not. I have no concern for the Kroll. I only want to survive.”
“There’s not a lot I can promise you, Querf, but if you are honest with us, we won’t kill you.”
“I see.”
“Would you be willing to help us?”
“I will do what I must to survive,” Querf replied.
“Good. I’m going to end this interrogation. When you wake up again, you’ll be more comfortable. Please bear with us. We must take precautions to ensure that we survive.”
The alien nodded, and Dean ended the transmission. A quick message to Harper, who was monitoring the torture room, was all it took to send enough Bentex into Querf’s nasal cannula to render the alien unconscious again.
“Can you believe that?” Esma said.
“Believing is the hardest part,” Dean said. “I’m not sure we can believe a word Querf says.”
“We have to,” Esma said. “You heard him—he built this ship. He knows how the electrical system operates. With his help, we’ll be able to remotely pilot the tug ships and fire the nukes.”
“Do you honestly believe a Pergantee prisoner would help us attack the Kroll?”
“I think it’s possible. But what I’m sure of is that without some help, we’ll fail.”
“You don’t think the mission will succeed?” Dean asked, a feeling of genuine fear flashing through him like a warning beacon.
“No, I think it will, Dean, but I’m afraid without help, a lot of good people will die carrying it out.”
“But don’t you think that’s a small sacrifice to make for the safety of the human race?”
“Right now, I’m not concerned about the human race. I’m concerned with you and me.”
“I feel the same way,” he said, getting to his feet and popping the seals on his TCU. “There’s nothing I want more than to make sure you’re safe—and that we hopefully have the opportunity to build a life together.”
He lifted the helmet off his head, being careful not to aggravate the wound on the back of his skull. It was painful just the same and he couldn’t help but wince. Esma reached up and stroked the opposite side of his face from his black eye.
“I want that, too,” she said. “More than anything.”
He bent down, and she stood on tiptoe until their lips met. The kiss was soft and warm. Dean didn’t want it to end, but he knew he had to inform the admirals of the Pergantee’s ability to communicate. Everything about the operation was suddenly in flux. The knowledge that Querf held was possibly worth more than carrying out the original plan. He would have to meet with the senior officers and discuss their options.
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