by James Walker
Vic's hands were clenched into trembling fists. “I have no loyalty to the Union,” he said, his words controlled but brittle. “Nor do I have any desire to betray SLIC. But I won't betray my comrades, either. I won't be propped up as a paper hero if it means trampling over men who have fought and bled for this cause years before I even set foot in the colonies.”
“It seems the Pirate Hunter's corrupting influence has penetrated deeper than I'd feared. A disappointment.” Demir gestured to his guards. “Arrest Corporal Shown on suspicion of treason.”
“Like hell you will!” Cena's furious voice exploded from the crowd.
Pandemonium engulfed the conference room. Before Vic could act, several guards swarmed over him, knocked him down, and restrained him. Astral tried to run forward to help him, but was held back by Esther. Cena plowed through the crowd and hurled herself into the melee, exploiting her proficiency in hand-to-hand fighting to incapacitate two guards before a third jammed the muzzle of his rifle in her face. Such close proximity proved a mistake as she struck the weapon so hard that it flew out of his hands, then downed him with a knee to the groin followed by an elbow to the side of the head. A fourth guard got behind her and knocked her to the ground by slamming the butt of his rifle against the back of her neck. Before she could get up, several guards piled on her, wrestled her arms into shackles, then dragged her to her feet. One of the guards punched her in the stomach, causing her to double over, coughing and sputtering.
The localized melee at the front of the room spilled over into a general brawl. Many of the rebels suddenly found themselves trading blows with their neighbors, forced to defend themselves against unprovoked attack. Only when General Demir drew his sidearm and fired several shots into the ceiling did the fighting cease. The general's guards took up positions around him, keeping the prisoners restrained and their rifles leveled at the conference attendees, officers and enlisted alike.
“It is a shame,” Demir said, “a deep shame that those responsible for killing Falsrain are Theran moles and people who have been coopted into defending them. At least we have succeeded in drawing the traitors out into the open. Is there anyone who would care to join them? Speak up.”
No one said a word.
Demir turned and pointed his sidearm at the officers standing off to the side. “What about you, Colonel Lane? These are your subordinates, are they not? Do you have anything to say?”
Amos' features were contorted into a tortured expression. “Do as you see fit, General,” he said in a strained voice.
Demir's mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. “Rather embarrassing for a cell commander to have Theran moles right under his nose and not realize it, wouldn't you say?”
“It is a humiliation I will never live down,” Amos said.
“Well, then.” Demir lowered his pistol and turned to his guards. “Remove the prisoners. It's time we made plans for the capture of Hongpan. We don't need a pack of traitors muddying the waters.”
As the guards herded the prisoners toward the door, Vic glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Esther's and Astral's gazes following them out. The fear and confusion in Astral's eyes stabbed through his heart. Then a guard shoved him through the door, and she was gone.
6 5
Vic, Cena, Pierson, and Tinubu were transferred via aerial transport to a remote installation somewhere deep in the barrens. The small compound's main building resembled a dilapidated bunker, surrounded on all sides by brown wasteland. Light seeped through the cloudless sky to reflect off the sand, cloaking the area in a mantle of oppressive heat.
The prisoners were escorted inside the main structure. At once, the harsh light of the outside gave way to a somber, blue-tinted dimness. Everything inside was bare concrete and rusty metal. The prisoners were directed to a stairwell that took them deep underground until they emerged in a cluster of cells. Vic and Tinubu were shoved inside one cell, while Cena got the cell to their left and Pierson the one on their right. The guards slammed the doors shut with echoing clangs, then returned whence they had come.
Silence enveloped the underground prison. Vic took in his surroundings in dismay: dilapidated cots, one rust-covered toilet to each cell, and a surveillance camera hanging from the ceiling in the adjoining corridor. Water trickled out of cracks in the walls and pooled on the floor. The silhouette of an enormous rat flitted around the edges of the shadows.
Cena's enraged voice cut through the silence like a knife. “This is bullshit!” She kicked the door of her cell, which responded with an echoing ring, but held firm. “General Demir, that son of a bitch. And what's with everyone just going along with him?”
“Don't waste your energy,” Pierson replied.
Cena wheeled around and shouted at Pierson, two cells over. “Doesn't it make you mad?” she demanded. “We stopped Falsrain from usurping control and prevented a global pandemic, and nobody even sticks up for us?”
“I'm afraid that's my fault,” Pierson said. “Hatred for the name of the Pirate Hunter runs deep. Demir was right about one thing. Between my deeds as a rebel officer and the atrocities committed under my orders as a Theran admiral, there are many for whom the latter holds the greater weight. I'm sure there are many rebels who would love nothing more than to see me hang. The rest of you just got dragged along for the ride.”
He glanced at Vic and added, “It was foolish of you to try to defend me, Vic. Why did you do that? Why out yourself as a native Theran in front of someone with such pathologically anti-Theran sentiments?”
Vic collapsed onto his cot. Although lumpy and uncomfortable, it was better than sitting on the floor's moist pavement. “It doesn't matter now,” he said. “What's done is done.”
Cena gave her cell door one more kick, then threw herself on her own cot and rolled onto her side, facing away from the others. None of them spoke for a long time.
*
With no clocks or windows, the prisoners had no way of tracking time save for their bodies' rhythms of wakefulness and fatigue and the regular delivery of water and pasty slop that served as their meals. By these measures, it was about two days later when another prisoner was brought in and shoved into Cena's cell: Celeste, looking wearier and frailer than they had ever seen her. She walked with a limp, and the movements of her left arm were stiff and uncoordinated.
“Celeste,” Cena exclaimed, helping her new cell mate to sit down on the bottom bunk. “What are you doing here?”
“I don't know,” Celeste replied weakly. “I was recuperating in the infirmary when a group of soldiers came in and hauled me off to a helicopter. The next thing I knew, they were shoving me in here. They said something about joining the rest of the Theran trash and their sympathizers.”
“It's Demir,” Pierson said. “He's executing some kind of purge. He'll ferret out everyone with direct ties to Thera and have them all arrested.”
“What about Colonel Lane?” Tinubu said. “He can't be cooperating with Demir. Can he?”
“He wasn't exactly falling all over himself to help us earlier,” Cena said.
“It's not like he could do anything,” Vic said. “If he'd spoken out in our defense, he would have been arrested too. That wouldn't have helped us.”
Rather than answering, Cena turned back to Celeste. “How are you holding up?” she asked. “You don't look so hot.”
“I don't feel so hot,” Celeste replied. “Dr. Klein saved my life, but I'm pretty much a cripple now. It's a medical miracle that I can even walk. As badly damaged as I was, it would take a fully outfitted Spacy maintenance lab to get me functional again.”
“That's an odd choice of words,” Cena said.
Celeste smiled ruefully. “The line between 'healing' and 'repairs' is pretty blurred where augments are concerned. Though at this point, I'm a dead woman walking either way. I don't know what they have in store for all of you, but as far as I'm concerned, all they have to do is keep me locked up in here and I'll be dead within a month.”
&nbs
p; “The augment nutrient solution,” Cena said in realization.
Celeste nodded. “I didn't notice them transporting my supply on the way over here. I doubt they plan to go back for it.”
There was nothing any of them could say. Still, there was some comfort in all the surviving members of the Turncoats squadron being reunited. Whatever fate awaited them, at least they would be able to face it together.
*
Minutes dragged into hours, which dragged into days. The monotony of being stuck inside their cells was maddening. The guards never let them out, only stopping by to deliver their food, never saying a word. The only sounds were the squeaking of mutated Chalice rats scurrying in the darkness.
Each of them dealt with the monotony in their own way. Cena was the most active, performing regular body weight exercises and periodically saying silent prayers. Taking their cue from her, the others, save for Celeste, joined in the exercises to keep their strength and spirits up, even competing to see who could perform the most repetitions.
Tinubu helped keep his comrades' morale up by drawing on his extensive knowledge of old stories, legends, and games. He recited from memory many tales drawn from nearly-forgotten cultures; and also taught the others a variety of mental games that they could play through verbal communication alone.
When not participating in the others' activities, Vic spent most of his time tracing through his recent memories, mentally revisiting the sites of his battles and remembering fallen comrades. Huan Yun, Eric Hound, Eliot Harper, Guntar Artega. He had not known any of them for long, and his interactions with some of them had not always been pleasant. But all of them had fought bravely and given their lives in the struggle to overthrow a despotic government. Whatever else they had done, they had died with honor. No one could ever take that away from them.
He also thought often of Astral. He reached out with his mind, hoping—though knowing it was impossible—that he might sense some trace of her presence, returning his call. He never did.
Of the group, Celeste was the main cause for concern. Aside from sometimes participating in Tinubu's verbal games, she did little except lie on her cot, tossing and turning restlessly. The others could see her gradually growing weaker with each day, and they were tortured by their inability to do anything for her.
An indeterminate amount of time passed in this manner—their consensus estimate was about two weeks—when something different happened. Several guards came down in a large group and opened the doors to Vic's and Pierson's cells.
“Shown and Maximillian,” the guards' leader growled. “Get out.”
“What's going on?” Pierson asked.
“You'll find out when you get there,” the guard replied. “Out. Now.”
Vic and Pierson complied. Rather than going upstairs, the guards escorted the prisoners into another section of the underground prison. Vic and Pierson were ushered into a spartan room with a single table and two metal chairs outfitted with various threatening instruments. The floor around the chairs was covered with dark stains. The guards shoved Vic and Pierson into the chairs and secured their wrists and ankles with restraints.
“Torture, is it?” Pierson said. “SLIC is going downhill fast. Or has General Demir always run things this way in his own cell?”
The nearest guard punched Pierson in the face, then motioned to his comrades. The guards left the room and closed the iron hatch behind them, leaving Vic and Pierson alone in the ominous chamber. Vic tested his restraints and quickly concluded that he was fastened too tightly for escape to be possible.
Pierson looked over at Vic and said, “Don't try to tough it out. If they ask us any questions, just tell them whatever they want to hear—a false confession, whatever. Given enough time, a good torturer can break anybody, so there's no point in prolonging the suffering. The human body can only endure so much before the mind breaks down.”
Vic fought down a thrill of fear. “If you say so, Major,” he replied, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I'll follow your lead.”
Soon, the hatch opened again and a single figure stepped through. Vic instantly recognized the big-boned, curly-haired form of Amos. He closed the door behind him, then came forward to stand in front of the prisoners.
Before either of them could say anything, he raised his hand. “Don't be alarmed,” he said. “This isn't what it looks like.”
“You mean you aren't going to torture us?” Vic asked.
“Of course not,” Amos replied. “Though after everything that's happened, I can't blame you for being suspicious of me.”
Pierson inclined his head toward a surveillance camera hanging from the ceiling. “What about that?”
“It's all right,” Amos replied. “Dr. Klein has hacked the feed and replaced it with a doctored video of a brutal interrogation. No one is monitoring us right now.”
Hope and suspicion swirled together into a turbulent vortex inside Vic. “Then you're on our side?” he asked.
Amos nodded. “Of course. Do you really think I would side with a burgeoning despot like General Demir over the saviors of Chalice?”
Pierson's hawkish eyes still looked suspicious. “I want to believe you wouldn't,” he said. “But I still have my doubts. Terrifying us with threat of torture and then sending a friendly face to say it's just a ruse would be a clever way to earn our trust.”
“A fair point,” Amos admitted. “Then how about this?”
He pressed a button on the table, releasing their restraints. Vic and Pierson traded glances, then stood up and stared hopefully at Amos, rubbing their wrists.
Amos spread his hands. “I'm at your mercy,” he said. “Now will you hear me out?”
“All right,” Pierson said. “Let's start with some information. What's happened while we've been trapped in here?”
“Things have gone from bad to worse, I'm afraid,” Amos said. “SLIC's forces on the continent massed for a combined assault on Hongpan. Both sides sustained heavy casualties and, true to form, General Demir's strategy for attack wreaked havoc on the city's infrastructure, causing many civilian casualties. After a brutal siege, the coalition forces finally seized control of all the major government and military installations in the city. General Demir declared independence from the Theran Union and installed himself as the head of an interim government, pending elections to put a more permanent governing body in place.”
Pierson snorted. “Fat chance of that. Even if there are elections, I'll bet their outcome has already been determined.”
“There's no doubt of that. General Demir has no intention of relinquishing power.” Amos glanced over his shoulder at the hatch, then continued speaking. “The transition hasn't gone as smoothly as he would like. Much of the populace rose up in protest, staging riots and demanding that Theran control of Chalice be restored. I don't think Demir was expecting that. He responded clumsily, by deploying captured attack drones to break up the riots with lethal force. Unlike the Theran Union, he doesn't have sufficient control over the media to cover it up. Word of his brutal suppression tactics has spread, and that's only made the citizens even more furious.”
Pierson put a hand to his temple, grimacing. “It's a nightmare. Our long years of fighting, our sacrifices. It's all in vain if the Theran Union is replaced with another government just like it.”
“I'm doing what little I can to keep the madness in check,” Amos said. “But there's only so much I can do. Everything is spiraling out of control. In any case, that's not what I came here for. I came here to confront one of the few injustices that it's within my power to fight.”
“Are you talking about our imprisonment?” Vic asked.
Amos nodded. “Since you're being imprisoned under Demir's orders, my authority isn't enough to set you free. On top of that, now that he's secured control of the capital, Demir intends to have you transferred there so he can make an example of you by public execution.”
“I was afraid of that,” Pierson said.
“Once
you're transferred to the capital, rescue will be impossible,” Amos said. “Fortunately, there is a window of opportunity: while you're being transported. I plan to hit the convoy with a light strike force and liberate you before you reach the capital. I'll turn Astral and Dr. Klein over to your custody and give you all false identities. After that, it will be up to your own resources to disappear. I wanted to tell you ahead of time so that you would know about the rescue attempt and able to take advantage of it once we hit the convoy.”
“What about Celeste?” Vic asked. “She's growing weaker by the day. She'll die without her nutrient solution.”
“I'll turn the whole supply over to you,” Amos said. “With Dr. Klein's help, you should be able to manufacture more to meet her needs. But first, you might need these to aid in your escape.”
Amos extracted five small capsules from his pockets. He gave two to Pierson and the other three to Vic. “Distribute these to your comrades. Keep them hidden until the time is right. Break the seal on them and they release a corrosive chemical which can melt through polymeric compounds while remaining harmless to flesh. You'll probably need them to break out of your restraints.”
Vic and Pierson accepted the capsules and hid them on their persons. “Thanks,” Vic said. “It looks like we misjudged you. I'm sorry.”
A trill sounded from the table. “Colonel?” a voice crackled over the speaker. “How is the interrogation progressing?”
Amos pressed a button and replied, “I'm nearly finished. Remain on standby.”
He released the button and looked up at Vic and Pierson. “Get back in your seats,” he said. “Quickly.”
They complied. Amos refastened their clamps, then pulled several blood packets out of his pockets, broke them open, and poured the blood all over Vic and Pierson. “Act like you've just been tortured,” he said, then activated the comm and reported, “I'm finished. Take the prisoners back to their cells.”