by Geoff North
“They’ve already informed me they’ll have them running in six hours.” The tiny helm-master gave her commander an apologetic look. “We need to guarantee the reaction chambers haven’t been damaged. Standard procedure.”
Edmund wanted to point out there was nothing standard about their situation, but rushing nuclear thrust in a damaged vessel could be disastrous. He had put them in this situation, and would not make matters any worse if it could be helped. “Thank you. Keep me informed.”
“We have time,” Barret said, sitting heavily into one of the tactics table stools. “I can’t imagine the Pegans will be in any rush to take on the force that wiped out an entire planet. They’ll be cautious.”
“Or they’ll be hell-bent on taking revenge as fast as they can,” Simmons pointed out.
Edmund rubbed his still unsettled stomach. “We’ll find out in six hours either way. Until then, I’m going to see if that shuttle we pulled into bay twelve was worth the price.”
Chapter 8
Steel plating had dropped over the port side windows of the Pegan transport ship during its descent through Alderamin 4’s atmosphere. Perhaps the Hunn-ephei didn’t want the prisoners from Earth able to identify any physical markers on their home world’s surface, or maybe it was just standard safety protocol during landings. It didn’t much matter to Sulafat. As soon as they were on solid ground, he would immediately find a way to get his people back into space, and away from this star system.
They had landed safely an hour earlier. The men and women seated behind Sulafat had started to grow restless. Spending the rest of their lives as slaves on an alien planet was hardly appealing, but waiting for too long in one place would always irritate mankind, no matter what the circumstances.
But the hour hadn’t been wasted. A plan of sorts had been made amongst Sulafat and his crew of prisoners. They had been brought aboard the ship by four armed Pegan guards. If they were led out by similar numbers, Sulafat would give the order to overwhelm the guards, take them as hostages, and force the prison ship to immediately lift off. It was by no means ingenious; there was more than a good chance it would result in the deaths of some of his people, but forty against four were decent odds, and this would be their only opportunity.
The door ahead of them began to open. It rumbled upwards from the floor revealing two sets of armored boots. He almost smiled. This might be easier than he expected. A second door twenty meters behind him at the cabin’s rear started to lift. Two more sets of boots. So much for easy.
The guards in front stepped through and trained rifles on the first row of prisoners seated in their benches. “Unbuckle your flight restraints and remain seated,” one of them ordered. “We will exit the ship in groups of four. One group from the front, another from the back until the cabin is empty.” The prisoners unfastened their restraints and waited. The guard pointed his weapon into Sulafat’s face. “You first.”
Sulafat stood and stretched his legs. “You’ll have to give me a minute. We’ve been cramped up in here for days.”
“Move it,” the guard said. He stepped back towards the open doorway, lowering his weapon slightly as Sulafat stepped into the cabin aisle.
“Please, give me some time. I’m an old man.” Sulafat began to massage the small of his back with both fists, sizing up the men standing in front of him. They were big. The black armor suits and protective helmets made them look even bigger. But that armor would slow them down, he reasoned. The cabin’s close quarters and the prisoners’ superior numbers would give them an advantage.
“You’ll be a dead man if you don’t start moving,” the second guard warned.
Sulafat took one step forward and stopped. He winced, clutching at his chest. “I’m having some… difficulty breathing.”
“Move!” Both weapons were pointed at him now.
Hadar Cen stood and reached for his captain. “It’s his heart. It hasn’t fully repaired since he was shot back on Pega.”
Sulafat moaned and dropped to his knees. One of the guards bent down to assist.
“Give him some room!” Someone yelled a few benches down. “He needs to lay down and catch his breath.”
The guards looked at each other, unsure how to respond. One lowered his rifle and stepped back. Tor Emin shot out of his seat, wrapping one thick arm around the Pegan’s neck. He yanked the man off his feet, forcing both down to the aisle floor. A shot fired from the rear of the cabin—the two guards standing at the back were quickly running towards them. A second shot was fired, but Emin was prepared. He rolled to one side, pulling the guard over top of him. The round punched into the man’s shoulder. There wasn’t time for a third shot; the men and women erupted from their seats, overwhelming the guards, and stripping them of their weapons. One guard at the front of the cabin remained standing. He waved his rifle around wildly, screaming for order. Sulafat, still laying flat on his back on the floor, kicked out, connected behind the man’s knee, and sent him toppling into the crowd.
Not a single Terran life was lost. Tor wrestled the last rifle away from their captors and held it out towards Sulafat. The captain stood. “The last time you pointed a gun at me, you blew a hole through my chest.”
The big man grinned. “I wasn’t thinking clearly back then.”
Sulafat took the weapon without returning the smile. He could forgive Emin for trying to kill him months earlier, but nothing would ever make him forget the role he’d played in the short-lived war with the Pegan civilization. People like Emin, and to a lesser degree, Rastaban Drac—the man who had succeeded him as captain—were responsible for the deaths of hundreds. They had been following an ancient set of orders by resurrecting Ambition’s original command officers from cryonic storage, so they couldn’t be held criminally responsible, but it didn’t make Sulafat feel any better. There would be a reckoning between the two men some day, he was sure. Today wouldn’t be it.
“I thought you were having a real attack,” Hadar Cen said.
Sulafat finally looked away from Tor. “What’s that?”
Hadar was sitting on top of the guard Sulafat had kicked down to the floor. He had the rifle pressed against the man’s throat, holding him in place. “Your heart. It looked like you were having a genuine attack of some kind.”
“It hurts like hell the best of times. It wasn’t much of an act.”
A Pegan woman and three Hunn-ephei stepped in through the open doorway. Four more of the grey-skinned beings appeared at the back of the cabin. Each was armed with small hand guns. “We anticipated you might try something foolish,” the woman said. “Lower those rifles to the cabin floor and step away from the guards.”
Hadar pressed the rifle down tighter against the Pegan guard’s throat. “We can’t do that, Jule. We’re leaving this planet.”
Jule Adeen, the diplomat that had helped them negotiate an end to the war, had accompanied Sulafat and his crew to Alderamin 4. This had been the first time they’d seen her since leaving the Pegan system. “You’d be shot out of the sky before you reached the upper atmosphere. Give up the weapon, Hadar. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be… Please.”
Sulafat pointed the rifle at one of the grey beings standing next to her. “Keep your weapons trained on the Hunn.” There was a connection between Hadar and Jule, he realized. It had been there since the fighter pilot had been taken as the first hostage at the war’s outbreak. She could hardly be considered an ally, but her knowledge of the Alderamin system and the Hunn-ephei was too valuable to lose. “We agreed to remain on your planet as life-long hostages—not being transported here as slaves. Tell whoever’s piloting this vessel to take us back up. We’re returning to Pega.”
Jule shook her head slowly. “I never wanted this for you and your people, Captain Sulafat. When Hunn Command found out about you, there was nothing my people could do. They wanted you here, and we had to comply. Any other decision would’ve been a treaty breach between the Pegan and Hunn civilizations. It would’ve be
en an act of war.”
“Not our war, Jule,” Hadar said. He was standing over the fallen guard now, one foot planted on the man’s chest, the end of the rifle pointed at his face. “Do as the Captain says, or I’ll blow his head off.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Her tone conveyed the hopelessness of their efforts. It was almost sympathetic. “The weapons are programmed to function in the guards’ hands only. This is your final warning. Put the rifle down.”
“Bullshit!” Wez Canis had hold of one of the guns in the back of the cabin. “She’s bluffing.” He pointed it at a Hunn in the rear doorway and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
Hadar tried shooting the guard. There was a click, but no discharge.
Tor Emin grabbed the guard that had been shot in the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He wrapped his arm around his throat again and pulled him tight to his chest. The man was still alive, but in great discomfort. “Take us back up or I’ll snap his neck.”
“That won’t work,” Jule warned.
“You don’t think I’ll do it?”
One of the Hunn pushed past Jule and advanced on Tor. It pressed the end of its small hand gun into the guard’s chest and fired. Tor released him and stepped back as a ring of blue fire erupted outwards from the guard’s ribs. By the time he’d hit the floor for a second time, all that remained were his legs. The rest of him had evaporated in a stinking mist.
More Hunn stepped into the cabin and shot the three guards left. They surrounded Jule, protecting her from physical attack. The captain lowered his rifle to the floor. Hadar Cen and Wez Canis did the same.
They were herded off the transport ship in groups of four. There was no need for wrist cuffs or ankle restraints. All the fight had been drained out of Sulafat’s people. A dozen additional security guards dressed in heavy black armor met them as they disembarked into a featureless, dome-shaped waiting area. The air stunk like something half-rotted, and it was cold. Within moments, all forty men and women began to shiver. They clustered in closer, attempting to stay warm. The drab flesh-colored uniforms they’d been clothed in since the beginning of their ordeal were thin and offered next to nothing in way of insulation.
Jule stood before them, cleared her throat, and spoke. “I have only been to Alderamin 4 one other time in my life. The average day time high temperature outside this dome is a Pegan minus factor of seven. On your Celsius scale of measurement, that’s an equivalent of minus forty-three degrees. The comfortable interior living temperature for the Hunn-ephei is Pegan plus factor two—plus three degrees Celsius. We have landed on the outskirts of the capital city, Waih.” She paused, crossed her arms over her chest for additional warmth, and looked the prisoners over. “Waih is located within Alderamin 4’s equatorial zone, the warmest region on the planet’s surface. The temperature at the poles averages minus one hundred twenty.”
“We don’t need a Sol-damned weather report,” Wez snapped, his teeth chattering. “We know it’s cold. Where’re you taking us now?”
“I’m explaining the environmental conditions on this planet to prepare you. We’ll be stepping outside in a few moments. It will be a relatively short walk, less than three hundred meters, but believe me, the difference between plus factor two and minus factor seven is noticeable. Once were back inside, the Hunn will not provide you with warm clothes. You will receive no blankets at night.”
“We can’t survive in temperatures that low for too long,” Hadar said. “We’ll all die.”
“Some of you may succumb, it’s true,” she replied. “But human physiology is not that dissimilar to Pegan. If you are reasonably healthy, if you’re strong, most of you will survive the initial trial.”
“Trial?” Sulafat asked. “It’s bad enough you’ve made us slaves, now you’re going to put our hardiness to the test as well?”
“The Hunn find it necessary.” Jule took no pleasure breaking the harsh reality to them. “It isn’t a test, not really. In the beginning, when the diplomatic work program was put in effect and the first Pegans arrived here to serve, there were… complications. They weren’t allowed to wear protective clothing. More than a thousand of my people died within the first three days from exposure to the cold.”
“That’s insane,” Hadar said. “What kind of intelligent species wouldn’t supply its work force with adequate protection against the elements?”
“The kind that finds exterior covering repulsive,” Jule answered, “The Hunn-ephei, as you may have noticed, wear none. They’re a race of telepathic beings. They hide nothing, and believe clothing could be used as a form of subterfuge. It was all the Pegan government could do to have them agree to the body covers you’ve been supplied with. To this day, the Hunn still can’t grasp the concept of modesty.”
Sulafat ran four fingers over the tight-fitting fabric on his arm. “Risking the loss of so much of their work force to the elements is, as Hadar put it, insane… and extremely inefficient.”
“It wasn’t inefficient to the Hunn, Captain. It forced our people to send them the best of our civilization. Only the strongest—the most physically and mentally fit are sent here now in the exchange. A small percentage are still lost to the harsh conditions, but the Hunn are now guaranteed a superior work force. If you can withstand the conditions after a week or two, prove your value, the Hunn will provide you with heavier work clothes and more comfortable sleeping supplies.”
Tor Emin started towards one of the Hunn standing next to her. “They’re cold, cruel bastards.” A Pegan guard cut him off when he’d made it to within six feet of the being. He began pushing Tor back forcibly with his rifle. Tor spit into the Hunn’s face. A glob of saliva struck against one of its glistening black eyeballs. The creature blinked, absorbing the fluid away in a single, emotionless gesture.
A final guard exited from the transport ship and handed Jule one of the armored environment suits. She started dressing into it. “I will accompany you from here to the orientation center for new arrivals.”
“We freeze our asses off while you lead us out in complete comfort,” Hadar said, “Hardly seems fair.”
“I’m a diplomat, not a laborer.” She lowered the helmet over her head and lifted the black visor. “I was forced to do the walk without protection on my first visit here, Hadar. I barely survived. Forgive me if protecting myself seems insensitive. It was an experience I promised myself never to repeat.” Jule faced the prisoners. “I’ve prepared you the best I can. If anyone is still thinking of trying to escape, let this short walk be a reminder of what awaits outside if you try. The trial phase of your internment begins now.” She slid the visor down into place. “Good luck.”
A portion of the dome wall before them opened. Howling wind slammed into the humans with a cold push like a million needle points. Another hour of Jule’s warnings wouldn’t have made any difference. Sulafat gasped in the freezing atmosphere; it ripped down his throat, ached inside his chest. It felt as if someone was blowing fire into his eyes. And then the stench hit him. Methane. Sulphur. A dozen more toxic gases mixed with oxygen. He could hear his people gagging all around him. Some were collapsing to their knees, unable to take the cold air into their lungs fast enough, and retching from the stink of it when they could.
Jule yelled over the roaring wind. “Breathe through your hands and move out onto the platform!”
Sulafat pulled Hadar along. They stepped out from the dome covering, leading the rest onto a narrow metal bridge less than a meter in width. There was barely room for the two men to stand side by side. They clutched at each other and looked over the edges. A thousand meters below was a swirling sea of purple and green gases—a fog so thick it looked more like churning liquid. One misstep to either side, and it would be a minute-long drop, freezing and choking the entire way.
“Move!” Jule urged them from farther down the line. “Don’t look down, walk!”
Sulafat kept one arm around Hadar’s waist and started out. The wind stung at his eyes. He wip
ed at them before the lids could freeze shut, and saw the city of Waih three hundred meters ahead. There were no buildings, only a conglomeration of pulsing green domes. They were scattered across the horizon like diseased blisters, rising from the planet’s icy skin. Larger domes could barely be seen behind those closest; monstrous bubbles shrouded in mauve blankets of drifting methane snow. The city seemed endless, blending into a deep purple sky of roiling clouds.
If any of them made it across, Sulafat would consider it a miracle. The Hunn-ephei were—as Tor Emin had put it—cold, cruel bastards indeed.
Chapter 9
Retribution hung broken in space. The fold drive engine was inoperable. The secondary nuclear thrust engines had been exhausted. Only the chemically fuelled rockets and auxiliary power systems were keeping the massive warship moving, and the pace it was setting for the Alderamin star system was less than a crawl by any modern space-faring standards.
Edmund exited the lift onto the vessel’s lower-most level with Barret, counting the seconds of every minute. They were dragging slowly, like his ship, inviting the next fleet of Pegan war vessels to catch up and finish them off. “We shouldn’t have left the Sol system so under-manned,” he complained. “Retribution requires a crew of at least five hundred men and women to function nominally. Now here we are, running and crippled, with less than a hundred people to get us to where we need to be.”
“We were lucky to get this many to come with us,” Barret said as they strode through the service tunnel linking bay eleven and twelve. “There aren’t that many people serving in the Republic willing to sacrifice years of their life on an unauthorized mission. And even if we get them all back, which is highly unlikely, they’re going to be spending the rest of their careers behind bars.”
“You have a real knack for cheering people up.”