“We won’t be able to do a complete scan on all of them,” said the Sensory Officer, frowning.
“Then get the closest with a complete scan, but I don’t want an idle instrument on this ship. Or an idle observer.” The crew looked back at their boards, and Suttler felt he had seized upon the thing most likely to keep them from brooding on the possibility of enemy ships translating onto their position. That was his job.
It won’t be good if one of them opens up a portal in the space we’re in, he thought, staring at the plot. It had been known to happen, rarely, but still enough to get a general idea of what can happen. If space were stretched through a spot that Sea Stag occupied she would be stretched with it. And the stealth ship was likely to break up, lose containment, and explode. It wouldn’t do the translating vessel much good either, as the hole she hoped to use would be partially plugged, and there would be a collision involving vessels moving at low relativistic speeds. Not that he cared a damn what happened to a Caca ship, but his he cared much about.
“Enemy ships are six light minutes from the barrier,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Traveling two point seven light relative to normal space. Time to barrier, two point two minutes.”
“Recording all grav wave resonances,” called out the Sensory Officer, who was sweating like everyone else aboard.
Should I have ordered them in battle armor, thought the Captain, wiping a sleeve across his own face. What would be the use? If one jumps on top of us we’re dead in an instant. If they detect us and fire on us we’re dead a little later, but still dead. And at least we can be comfortable while we wait for the verdict. And it would have taken too long to power everything up for battle from the total down status they were now at, a status made necessary if they were to escape detection. The enemy would hit them much too hard before they had fields up.
“One minute thirty seconds to the barrier,” called out the Tactical Officer.
Bryce for a moment felt like telling him to shut up. The sweat was starting to roll down his own face, and he understood how people fighting in the old submarines of history must have felt.
“One minute to hyper barrier.” The plot showed the alien ships almost on top of them. “Point seven five minutes.” Now they were on top of the stealth ship, just in another dimension.
“Leading ships point five light minutes.” People on the bridge started to relax, but the Captain still felt the tension in his body. They weren’t out of it yet. If the enemy all translated at about the same point, up ahead toward the star, they were safe. But Fleets had been known to translate simultaneously, and there were still ships coming across their position.
“Lead ships point two light minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.
“Translation,” called out the Sensory Officer. “We have translation one point eight light minutes ahead.”
The grav waves were flooding the sensors as the ships continued to move into normal space, still invisible to the observing ship due to the light speed limit of that space.
“Start sending the data we have back to base,” said Suttler to the Com Officer. “It might take a couple of hours to give them everything we have.”
“Yes, sir,” called out the Com Officer over the resonance waves coming through the bridge speakers.
The first of the enemy ships appeared on the viewers; scout craft, the five hundred thousand ton small craft, each double the mass of Sea Stag. All were moving into the system, starting to accelerate now that they were back in normal space. They only had their basic particle shields up to front, giving the human ship a perfect view of them from astern. Every camera and energy sensor on the stealth ship was taking in every detail. More of the scouts came onto the screen, seeming to appear out of nowhere as they were at first blocked out by the holes they opened in space, then revealed as those holes collapsed on themselves.
“We’re getting beautiful data on them, sir,” called out the Sensory Officer, smiling and looking at the viewers.
Next came some of the cruisers, looking much like larger versions of the scout ships. Again they appeared out of nowhere, then started accelerating, and the sensors were pulling in the resonances of their grabber units while the computers matched those resonances to their heat signatures and acceleration rates. This went on for minutes, and then the real show began as the twenty-five million ton battleships began to appear. The sensors locked onto the closest pair and began to record the images that showed every surface installation, every energy signature across the huge ships. In minutes they had gathered more information about the layout of the big ships than the Empire had to date. The computers crunched the data and sent it up the line, while the raw information was also sent in pure form.
“This is a stroke of luck, sir,” said the Tactical Officer as more battleships appeared, followed by more of the cruisers.
“And a moment ago we all thought this was a sign of doom, myself included,” said Bryce, staring in amazement at the huge enemy force that didn’t even realize it was being watched. “I…”
“We have a translation,” called out the Sensory Officer in a tone that let everyone know right off this was not more of the same. “Distance, almost on top of us.”
“Shut down all passives,” called out the Captain, turning in his seat to point at the officer. “Stealth field at full power.” At his command the ship turned its light bending field, powered down so she could gather the best data possible, to full power, and the vessel seemed to fade away from the Universe.
Suddenly there was a vessel in space, sitting no more than a thousand kilometers away, much too close for comfort. It was only an enemy scout ship, which could still destroy Sea Stag in a fair fight with no trouble. And alert the other ships to her presence if she couldn’t finish the human vessel. Everyone held their breaths, again, then sighed as the ship started to accelerate into the system, opening up the distance she had gained from coasting from her point of entry at point three light.
“That was too damned close,” exclaimed Lieutenant Ngovic, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck to relieve the tension build up.
“Damn right,” said Suttler, watching the plot that showed the enemy force moving into the system. He turned back to the Com Officer. “What’s it sound like out there?”
“They’re all chattering away ship to ship,” said the officer. “Without a care in the world.”
“Of course,” said Ngovic, nodding. They control this system, and there’s no one here to contest it. And anything they transmit will take years to reach the nearest star system.
“Keep sending everything back to base,” said Suttler, looking at the Com Officer. “And I mean everything, no matter how unimportant it may seem.”
And we continue to sit here and watch, relaying the information back, while you bastards have no idea there’s a hawk flying around, spying into the chicken coop.
* * *
Chief Petty Officer Jana Gorbachev remembered the tales of Hell her Orthodox Catholic mother had told her when she was growing up. Tales meant to frighten a young girl, to make her think about what she was doing, so as not to risk ending up in so frightening a place. But despite her good behavior she had ended up there anyhow. Because if this wasn’t Hell, it was the closest thing she could imagine to it.
The cell where she and twenty of her crewmates were crammed was like something out of a fantasy about life centuries prior to space travel. The ten by ten meter room was filthy, unlike the spotless quarters that were kept for prisoners aboard Imperial warships. Clean clothing wasn’t a problem, as they had been stripped naked before being herded into the chamber. Clean skin was, as they were not offered so much as a basin of water, and must perform their toileting into a hole in the floor, in front of everyone else. Bedding consisted of the hard floor, and the temperature regulation was either too hot or too cold.
And probably all of it on purpose, thought the NCO, glaring at their large captors as they came to gather some subjects for interrogati
on. They couldn’t even keep track of the days of their captivity aboard what had to be a ship or a station in space. There was no way to tell time in the always darkly lit compartment, and no way to register it.
The aliens were coming back; one of them holding a human in his arms as if the man was a small child. Jana could tell by the endless stare from the man that he was totally broken. She had already been through one session herself, and could see how someone could be broken down completely by several of them.
The alien put the man down on the floor, where he stood staring into the air. Jana waited for them to open the wire mesh door and let the man back into the cell, but the Cacada made no move to do so.
The second alien drew what to them would be a short blade from the sheath on his belt. He drew his arm back and the humans in the caged screamed out. Jana knew she was among them, yelling the word no at the top of her lungs. The Cacada didn’t hesitate at all, and the ultrasharp blade sliced easily through the neck of the crewman, splattering blood into the cage to splash the other humans.
The body swayed on its feet for a moment, then fell to the floor, blood spurting from the stump of the neck for a little bit of time. The head rolled on the floor, the same sightless stare on the face it had possessed in life. With finality the body pumped one last spurt of blood, then stopped, while some remaining fluid dribbled out onto the floor.
“This is a human who did not cooperate,” said one of the Cacada in guttural but passable Terranglo. “He fought us until there was nothing left of his mind, and so became of no use to us. Now he will be used for the only thing humans are good for, food for the warriors of the race. If you fail to cooperate a similar fate will befall you.”
And with that the two Cacada males left the chamber, one dragging the body behind him by a leg. The head was left where it fell, a reminder of what the alien had said.
Some undetermined time in the future more humans were taken away, some to return intact, others to be butchered in front of those remaining in the cage, until the numbers dwindled. Jana herself was taken on two other occasions. The interrogation was frightening and excruciating, and she tried her hardest not to scream, failing each time. She told the aliens some of what she knew, always holding back the most important information, still shamed that she had revealed anything. She came back to the cage covered in her own urine and feces, and often vomit as well. But she always came back, so must have satisfied their captors in some respect.
And then came the day when the new prisoner was brought to the cage, the first time the population had actually grown. He said he was from the Duke of Landris, one of the other ships destroyed in the battle of Massadara, and he spoke with the accent of Cimmeria. After a couple of days he was accepted as a survivor and not some kind of enemy trick, especially after he was removed one time for interrogation and came back in similar shape as the other humans who had undergone the same treatment.
One day, after they had been given their unpalatable rations, the new man approached her and asked if he could take some floor space next to her.
“I’m Ben, by the way,” said the man by way of introductions. “I was an engineering petty officer.”
“Jana,” said Gorbachev, holding out a hand and shaking.
“So, you were a weapons chief on the Sergiov?” said the man, smiling, before biting into some unknown and tasteless vegetable.
“Guilty as charged,” said Jana, wondering what job the other man did in engineering. Or how long he had been in rank.
“So, what happened to the Prince?” asked the man. “The bets in the other cell were that he got away, but I didn’t think he had a chance when the Cacas hit your ship.”
“He got away, alright,” said Jana with a smile, shoving what doubts she had about talking with the man to the back. He’s human, after all. How could he be a spy for the Cacas? And she felt the need to talk it out, to assure herself that the sacrifice they made was worth it. She couldn’t help herself.
“So he can go back to a life of idleness, lording it over the peasants, while we sit and rot in this cell,” said the man in a disgusted tone.
“So he can go back and assume the throne,” said Jana, feeling her hackles rise at the man’s tone, talking about an officer he didn’t even know. “It was vitally important that he get away, since his brother had been assassinated along with his father.” It had to be worth it, she thought again, looking down at the floor. And even if it wasn’t, we still would have died in the battle line with the other ships, wouldn’t we? She couldn’t think of another outcome. Their presence may have resulted in the destruction of another enemy battleship, if they were very fortunate. That still wouldn’t have made any difference to the final result.
She looked up to see the man staring at her, and wondered if she had said too much. But everyone in the Task Force knew what Sean was. And many learned about the death of the Emperor before the battle ended. So what’s the harm. She shrugged it off and continued to talk with the man about other things. Every once in a while the topic came back to Sean, and she wondered what was the interest in the Prince, especially now that he was out of the system.
An hour later the man was taken away, and she wondered if she would see him again, short of watching his execution in front of the bars.
An hour after that a quartet of armed Cacada appeared in the outer chamber, led by one who was arrayed as an officer of some sort. “Jana Gorbachev will come forward,” said that male in a loud voice.
Jana stood there amongst her peers, frozen with fear, unable to move.
“Jana Gorbachev will come forward,” repeated the officer, while his troops started to move toward the bars with stun rods in their hands.
The people around Jana moved away, cowering in the shadows, hugging the walls, trying to get as far away from the target as possible. She looked hopelessly around, thinking of joining them in the shadows. She shrugged her shoulders, knowing what that would accomplish. Nothing. She took a hesitant step forward.
The door opened and the officer looked in on her with eyes that told her he would like to make a meal of her. “Why did you not step forward at the first command?” said the officer.
“I was afraid,” said Jana in a child’s voice. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Nothing pleasant, I assure you,” said the officer, pointing at the woman. One of the troopers stepped forward and grabbed her wrist before she could react. She was then dragged down the corridor, through several doors, and to a room that was hot and steamy. She screamed and yelled the entire way, and screamed even more when brought into the last room, which reminded her of a kitchen with its heat.
The guards then turned and left, after the officer said something in an unknown language to a different kind of alien that was waiting in the room. He then followed his men from the room, leaving her alone with the strange being.
The creature was tall and slender, with a slick bluish skin that reminded Jana of that of a dolphin. Her eyes were large and luminous, and she was obviously mammalian and female, with a set of six teats on her narrow chest. The alien woman took one of Jana’s hands in her sleek seven fingered one and led her into the next room, where a large sunken tub sent steam into the air.
“A bath?” said Jana, confused, as she had thought she was being led to her doom. The being gestured to the water, then led Jana into the steaming water. It was a little hot at first, but soon Jana was allowing herself to relax in the luxuriant heat. The alien brought out something that looked like a natural sponge and some soap, and started to clean Jana’s skin and hair.
Is this another part of the interrogation process? thought the woman as she lay back in the hot water, letting it soak into her tense muscles. Giving her the carrot, in place of the stick. And when that didn’t work would the stick return. Might as well enjoy the carrot while it lasts.
Later the human woman sat in a chair while the alien trimmed her nails and hair. Jana was now starting to wonder what she was being prepared
for. This was not just preparing her for another interrogation. And it was not the doom she had expected, but surely something of advantage to her captors.
She looked up as the large male officer walked into the room. She wondered if she could outrun him, for though he was big and long limbed, he also moved in a less than agile manner as compared to a human. She shrugged her shoulders again, knowing that outrun him or not she would either be shot down or captured. There might come a better time, or maybe not. But this time was definitely not good.
“The slave will put this on,” said the male, holding out an unsnapped ring.
It took Jana a minute to recognize the collar, and when she did she cringed. “No,” she yelled. “I will not wear a collar. I’m not a dog.”
“No,” said the male with a feral smile. “You are not whatever beast you name. But you are a slave, and you will wear this collar.” The male tossed the ring toward her and it landed in her lap.
Jana stared at the collar for a moment. It was a ring of some hard alloy, and she was sure it had some built in features to keep her from escaping, or rebelling. She put her hand on the cool metal and recoiled like she had touched a poisonous animal.
“The slave will put on the collar, or the slave will be punished,” said the male, his eyes narrowing.
The Chief felt a shiver run up her spine at the tone and words of the male. Using the third person made her nothing but an object, which she was sure was the objective. And while she didn’t know what punishment might be used, she was quite sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. She picked up the collar and pulled it further open, then set it around her neck. As soon as it was around her throat it closed shut on its own, and she frantically pulled at it in a panic. There was no seam where the opening had been, and she knew there was no way she could get rid of the collar.
“Now, the slave will follow me,” said the male, turning his back and starting to walk out of the room.
“Don’t I get some clothes,” she yelled after him.
“Slaves do not get clothing,” said the officer, turning back to face her. “Slaves have no need for clothing, as slaves are kept in the regulated environment aboard ship.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm Page 14