‘Perhaps there is something that we might be able to do to help?’
‘What could I possibly want of you two, Taron?’ Idris uttered without looking up.
‘I’ll fly down there and see if Salim can be convinced to free at least some of the hostages, but I’m not guaranteeing a damned thing, understood?’
The captain concealed a quiet smile as he intently studied a tactical display and kept his back turned toward Taron.
‘How can I trust you to do anything to help us?’ Idris growled.
‘I’m damned well here, aren’t I?’ Taron snapped. ‘Don’t pull my chain, captain. I can just as easily take off and leave the system.’
Idris, his hands behind his back, turned to face the smuggler.
‘Guards, stand by,’ he ordered as the nearby Marines activated their plasma rifles. ‘Captain Forge is displaying frightening indications of goodwill.’
***
XXVI
The glow of the lights was a white halo that cast the darkened crest of the hillside into sharp relief, low clouds drifting by in a sullen sky and the glowing aurora visible between them, rivers of ghostly green light amid the frigid darkness above.
Kordaz eased his way up the hillside, the chill in the air bitter and his bones aching with the cold. The thermal suit he wore did little to protect him, continuous motion his only ally against hypothermia as he clambered over rocks and around thickened tufts of hardy grass.
From the distance he heard the muted clash of metal upon metal, the sound of mechanical engines and human voices echoing around him as he climbed the last few cubits to the ridgeline and then paused. He calmed his breathing, cautious of the clouds of vapour he was billowing out onto the cold air and of how easily they would be illuminated by the distant lights. Darkness was his only defence against capture, and he had little doubt about how a motley gang of pirates and smugglers would deal with a Veng’en intruder.
Carefully, Kordaz peered over the ridgeline and immediately his breath was taken away by what he saw.
The vast frigate was mounted on immense cradles forged from a mixture of the natural bedrock and shaped steel braces, box-like constructions containing row upon row of metal ovals capable of bearing the frigate’s tremendous weight. Illuminated by countless arc lamps blazing like a galaxy of white stars, scaffolding had been erected around the frigate’s lower hull, upon which countless workers slaved with welding torches. High above Kordaz other workers could be seen atop the frigate, swarming like ants across a whale’s back as they conducted extensive repairs.
Kordaz scanned the compound and identified power conduits and cables, all snaking away to a bank of powerful generators erected near what looked like some kind of makeshift castle mounted against a steep hillside opposite, replete with banners and flags. He scanned the ship again and saw only faint illumination coming from within.
The fusion cores must have been deactivated to allow some of the repair work to go ahead, and therefore the power for the lights, power tools and shielding devices being emitted by the frigate was coming solely from the generators. Ten in all, each the size of a large house, they would themselves be powered by smaller fusion cores.
He cast his gaze back up to the towering frigate. Among the workers strode hulking figures that Kordaz recognised as Ogrin, a dim-witted species enslaved centures before by the Veng’en and others. Obedient and unchallenging, the Ogrin were routinely abused by their captors and forced to work endless hours, their huge strength and unchallenging nature much in demand, especially outside the core systems where such factors as right-to-dignity laws championed by the Etheran government were given short thrift.
Beyond the frigate Kordaz could just make out an open plain upon which were parked countless fighters, freighters and other assorted craft, likely all pilfered by the smugglers during their normal course of operations out in the Tiberium Fields and beyond. Kordaz could see at least three craft whose origin were unknown to him, created by a species yet to be documented by the governments of the core systems. The Icari Line, generally respected by all species including the Veng’en, represented no barrier to those who flew under no flag and obeyed no laws.
Kordaz reached down to his belt and retrieved a small camera with which he proceeded to take high-resolution film of the site. He knew that the Atlantia would not be able to receive his imagery from its orbital position on the far side of the planet, so the best way to inform Captain Sansin of what was waiting for him on the surface was to board the captured ship and send the information directly to the Atlantia by creating a priority fleet signal. Kordaz knew that only a signal sent from the same ship creating the interference would get through, otherwise Colonial frigates would not have been able to communicate in battle while running those jamming signals. If what he was looking at was indeed a sister ship to Atlantia, then the required codes for getting the signal through would be on board.
There was, however, a major problem.
Kordaz put the camera away and looked at the power generators arrayed near the strange pirate stronghold. The chances of him getting aboard the frigate and then infiltrating the bridge and manipulating the controls without being spotted there were slim. He recalled that like Atlantia the frigate would possess a War Room, a smaller bridge that was used by the command structure if the main bridge was damaged or otherwise compromised, perhaps by boarding enemy or some such, but even that would be impossible to breach without being spotted. That was the whole point of such a room: to prevent boaders from taking control of the ship.
Kordaz would have to settle for second-best. He eyed the distance from the power generators to the nearest of two parked Raython fighters visible beyond the frigate’s massive hull. His best chance was to kill the power to the frigate, giving Atlantia the opportunity to attack with an aerial assault and overpower Salim Phaeon’s men with brute force and surprise.
Kordaz lay flat and turned side-on to the ridgeline to reduce his profile before he slowly rolled over it and descended down into the shadows toward the compound.
*
‘How many are there?’
Meyanna Sansin walked as quickly as she could to keep up with General Bra’hiv as he led her through a winding path in the sanctuary’s forest.
‘Half a dozen and more coming in since we arrested the dealers and cut off the supply of Devlamine,’ the general replied. ‘I don’t have time to chaperone them and my men are stretched too thin as it is down here. They need treatment, and many of the locals are refusing to let their loved ones out of the sanctuary and into the ship proper.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Because,’ Bra’hiv smiled tightly, ‘they believe us to be the enemy.’
‘Then we need to show them that we’re not an enemy,’ Meyanna insisted. ‘Do you know where the Devlamine farm is?’
‘Yes,’ Bra’hiv acknowledged, ‘I have two men watching it as we speak.’
‘Let the civilians know its location,’ Meyanna said. ‘Let them burn it to hell.’
‘That won’t change much,’ Bra’hiv said, ‘we still don’t know where the main supply is, the liquified form of the drug that’s already been harvested.’
‘Doesn’t matter if it can’t be supplied to addicts,’ Meyanna pointed out. ‘You worry about the hidden stash. If the people think we trust them with this, they’ll turn to our side far quicker than if you keep them in the dark.’
Bra’hiv led Meyanna to a small cluster of homesteads arranged alongside fields packed with crops, the homes backing on to the forest from which she and Bra’hiv emerged. A small group of Marines were standing guard unobtrusively nearby, a larger crowd of civilians gathered in a loose knot amid the homes.
‘It’s your show from here,’ Bra’hiv told her. ‘I’m pulling my men out of the sanctuary until I receive orders otherwise from the captain. We’re not helping here, we’re just creating discord.’
Before Meyanna could reply Bra’hiv clicked his fingers loudly and jer
ked his head to one side. Every one of the Marines split from their posts and marched on his position as the general led them away from the homes and back into the forest.
Meyanna slowly approached the gathered civilians, who watched her warily until they recognised her and saw the medical logo on the briefcase she carried. As if by some unseen command the women in the group suddenly rushed toward her and in a torrent of words spilled their suffering.
‘My son, he’s got a temperature of over a hundred.’
‘It started last night, after he got back from engineering.’
‘It’s not drugs, is it? My boy would never do that! Would he?’
Meyanna waved the women into silence and spoke quickly.
‘Are they exhibiting high temperatures, inflamed veins and arteries, elevated heart rate and excessive sweating?’
All of the women nodded anxiously, their eyes filled with a curious elixir of hope, dread and frayed nerves.
‘All of your loved ones are experiencing Devlamine overdose,’ Meyanna said sharply. ‘You can deny it for as long as you want, but if they are not treated and soon they will all likely perish.’
Another flurry of desperate cries broke against Meyanna’s medical expertise and she forced the women to calm down. Behind them, the menfolk were watching with cautious expressions.
‘These victims need treatment,’ Meyanna said. ‘You see the command structure of Atlantia as some kind of enemy, but in truth this has surprised the captain as much as anybody and all they’re trying to do is stamp the drugs out, fast. I’ll treat all of the victims down here, but I’ll need help from my staff and all of those suffering from withdrawal in the sanctuary in one place where we can treat them efficiently, no exceptions.’
One of the men strode forward. ‘How can we trust you when your own people are suffering from this sickness, this disease of addiction? We heard that some of your soldiers are afflicted.’
‘It’s precisely because our military personnel are suffering that you can trust us,’ Meyanna countered. ‘Devlamine affects everybody. You all remember how it was the scourge of the docks back on Ethera? Do any of you want the same epidemic to strike here aboard Atlantia, our last home, perhaps the last home we’ll ever have?’
Nobody challenged Meyanna, and she pointed to one of the homesteads.
‘That one there,’ she said. ‘Have it cleared and bring every sufferer there as and when they are found. With them all in one place we’ll be one step closer to stamping it out entirely.’
The women looked at Meyanna for only a moment, and then they scattered to do her bidding.
*
Mikhain stormed through the Atlantia’s corridors, junior officers stepping out of his way and saluting briskly. He noticed none of them, his mind boiling with outrage. That Andaim had been selected as the Atlantia’s captain’s “face” for the duration of the orbit had been enough of a blow to his credibility in the eyes of the command team, but now things had truly gone too damned far. The Atlantia was in orbit above a pirate’s haven with sworn officers held hostage under threat of death and the captain was apparently placing his faith in Taron Forge, a man known mostly for his hatred and betrayal of Colonial forces. Worse, the captain had entrusted the infiltration of Salim’s compound to a traitorous Veng’en who showed little promise of loyalty toward mankind. Kordaz would as likely inform Salim of the impending attack rather than risk his own life. The attack would become a failure before it even went ahead, and any chance of liberating the hostages would be lost.
The captain of the Atlantia was no longer an asset: he was the greatest threat to mankind’s continued survival. Mikhain felt certain that the only logical course of action was to ensure that the captain’s increasingly erratic behaviour was brought to a halt before any more of the ship’s crew were lost.
The Marine’s barracks were located close to the launch bays along with the pilot’s cabins. Placed for rapid deployment in an emergency, the barracks were split evenly between Alpha and Bravo Company. Mikhain headed directly for the former and strode in.
Corporal Djimon awaited him in the otherwise empty barracks, the towering Marine as immovable as a granite mountain and with features to match. He watched impassively as Mikhain approached.
‘You’ve heard?’ he asked.
‘An airborne assault on the surface,’ Djimon replied. ‘The general’s keeping the details sketchy, but we’re figuring it’s some kind of pirate lair and that hostages are involved.’
‘That’s it,’ Mikhain confirmed. ‘The damned old fool thinks that he can use Taron Forge to get on the inside and cajole Salim Phaeon into releasing hostages.’
Djimon stared at Mikhain for a long moment. ‘How?’
Mikhain scowled at the corporal. ‘I don’t know because I’m not in the damned loop. Captain Sansin is playing this close to his chest and nobody seems to know what’s going on.’
‘Nobody from Alpha Company has been deployed that I know of,’ Djimon gasped in disbelief.
‘Precisely,’ Mikhain replied. ‘The captain has placed all of his faith in a morally questionable pirate in order to infiltrate Salim Phaeon’s compound and liberate Colonial officers. What’s the chances of Taron and Yo’Ki changing their minds about their allegiance to us when they get down there?’
‘What about Qayin?’ Djimon growled.
‘To hell with him,’ Mikhain replied. ‘This is about saving Colonial lives!’
‘I saw him,’ Djimon said. ‘He visited Taron Forge in his cell. I don’t know what they talked about, but they both looked so happy I’d say they cut a deal.’
‘Salim Phaeon,’ Mikhain realised as he thought about this new and unexpected information. ‘He knows about the Devlamine supply aboard ship and wants all of it. Qayin’s going to turn against us and ally himself to Taron,’ Mikhain said with rock-solid conviction. ‘Damn it, I knew that man was up to no good.’
‘We should report this to the captain,’ Djimon insisted.
‘No!’ Mikhain forestalled the big Marine with one hand. ‘The captain isn’t listening to anybody but himself. Even if we reveal what’s happening he’ll push on regardless, he has no choice.’
‘Then what do we do?’ Djimon asked.
Mikhain clenched his fists by his side as he stiffened his resolve.
‘Something neither of us will enjoy,’ he replied. ‘We must ensure that the mission fails and that the crew’s faith in Captain Sansin’s ability to command and Sergeant Qayin’s loyalty is undermined.’
The big Marine stared down at Mikhain for a long moment as he processed what the XO was suggesting.
‘We could lose lives on the surface,’ he replied.
‘Yes,’ Mikhain agreed. ‘Qayin, a Veng’en traitor and a damned pirate who should have been hanged years ago. How would you like to see Sergeant Qayin pay for his crimes? Stuck in a cell here on Atlantia surrounded by loyal Marines, or shot for his treachery?’
Corporal Djimon thought only for a moment longer, and then his glacial features cracked with a thin smile.
***
XXVII
Evelyn strode down onto the throne room with Teera behind her, their feet making barely a sound on the stony ground. The air was cold against her skin, but as they reached the throne room warm air billowed from heaters and enveloped her as they followed two giant Ogrin into the room.
Several pirates were lounging on couches and chairs, smoke drifting upward in lazy blue spirals from chrome tobacco pipes as they turned and saw her. Salim Phaeon, slumped on his makeshift throne, looked up and his thin black eyes widened as a satisfied smile curled like a snake across his face.
‘My, my,’ he murmured as he observed Evelyn and Teera. ‘That wasn’t so hard now, was it? And how fabulous do they both look?’ he asked his companions.
A ripple of soft murmurs floated among the pirates, as though even the effort of speaking was too much for them.
Then, Salim caught sight of Ishira walking down into the room.
>
‘Wonders will never cease!’ he exclaimed, and Evelyn saw young Erin stare wide-eyed at her mother as she glimpsed her. Erin jumped up and dashed to Ishira’s side, Ishira placing a hand on her daughter’s head as she walked.
Salim hauled himself lethargically to his feet as he surveyed the three women all draped in the silken gowns, watching them as though with some kind of fatherly pride that made Evelyn’s stomach turn over.
‘Welcome, my ladies,’ he addressed them. ‘You will be far more comfortable here than in those drafty cells, no?’ He clicked his fingers at the nearest Ogrin. ‘Bring them food, and drink!’
The Ogrin turned and lumbered away as Salim gestured to the thick rugs arranged around the throne, two hybrids already sprawled upon it as though basking with half-empty drinks before them.
‘Come, sit down, rest yourselves.’
Ishira and Teera strolled obediently to the rugs but Evelyn did not move.
‘We’re not here to be enslaved,’ Evelyn told him. ‘No matter how hard you try there is no way that any of us will become your subjects like these poor pathetic creatures.’
Evelyn gestured to the hybrids, who purred with what may have been amusement and shrugged the insult off.
‘These creatures, as you call them,’ Salim replied, ‘are my friends and are free to move as they wish. They are neither abused nor harmed in any way and…’
‘They’re slaves,’ Evelyn replied. ‘Doesn’t matter how you dress them up, Salim. You’re a slaver, nothing more.’
‘And you’re a Colonial Officer,’ Salim murmured, ‘as is your friend here, but she understands that there is no choice for any of you. There are no laws except those that I create here. There is no more Etheran government, no more humanity at all for that matter. Your best chance of survival is right here, and in return we ask little.’
Salim’s oily smile only annoyed Evelyn all the more.
Atlantia Series 3: Aggressor Page 19