Hoshiko took a moment to consult her implants. The Druavroks were listed as one of the bully-boy races, like the Varner; a race that served as enforcers for the Tokomak and, in exchange, were allowed to lord it over everyone else in their sector. There wasn't much else in the files, save for the observation that the Druavroks were a lizard-like race that laid eggs and had a major population problem. She would have been surprised if anyone on Earth had given any thought to the Druavroks. They were six months away, after all.
“They snatched control of the orbital defences, then took the council building and declared themselves the sole rulers of Amstar,” Ryman continued. “That alone wouldn’t have been so bad, but they insisted that everyone else had to ritually submit to their rule or face the consequences. The submitted have no rights, Captain; the Druavroks think nothing of eating their slaves or butchering them for fun. A number of other races flatly refused to submit; the Druavroks bombed isolated settlements from orbit, then sent in ground troops to cleanse the cities. They’re bent on committing genocide on a colossal scale.”
Hoshiko sucked in her breath. “And what happened to you?”
“We were down on the planet when they took over,” Ryman said. “They told us - Kenny and I - that we had to submit or face the consequences. I submitted, while making contact with some of our friends. We smuggled over ten thousand refugees into the spaceport, loaded them onto the ships and took off. They opened fire on us once we were in the air, so we went FTL as soon as we could. The drive was badly damaged, but we made it out. We’d heard there was a human presence at Martina ... I decided to gamble and run for help. And when we dropped out of FTL ...”
His voice trailed off. “I understand,” Hoshiko said. “You encountered us.”
“The sensors were so badly battered I didn't realise just how closely they were following us,” Ryman confessed. “I didn’t mean to lead them right to you.”
“We survived,” Hoshiko said. “What are they doing on Amstar?”
“They’re killing everyone who refuses to submit,” Ryman said. “Perhaps they would have dealt with us earlier, but they were rather occupied. It’s like bloody Paris in some of the giant megacities, Captain. Everyone is fighting like mad bastards because they know they’re all going to be killed. I heard of children being gassed, men and women being firebombed ... the only thing keeping them from destroying the cities from orbit is the presence of their own settlements. But I don’t see how the defenders can hold out for long. They didn't have many weapons when the Tokomak withdrew and hardly any time to build up an arsenal since. No one expected a coup.”
He shuddered. “They have some people fighting on their side,” he added. “One of them ... one of them hurt my daughter. I could do nothing to help her.”
Hoshiko forced herself to remain calm. “How did you get so many people here safely?”
“Everything we could think of,” Ryman said. “Used sedative gas to keep them quiet and content, recycled damn near everything we could to feed ourselves ... built makeshift air scrubbers out of spare parts and jury-rigged everything else we could. How many did we lose?”
“Nineteen on the trip,” Hoshiko said. She decided not to mention the refugees who’d been killed when the freighter was attacked. “We’re having the refugees shipped down to the planet now.”
“The Druavroks will come after them,” Ryman said. “I don't think this is a localised uprising, Captain. They didn’t have sole control of the Amstar Defence Force before the coup. Those ships might have come from their homeworld itself.”
“And with the Tokomak gone, they might be thinking of a little empire-building of their own,” Hoshiko said. It was a chilling thought. She had a duty to preserve human lives and now human lives were under threat. “Taking Amstar and its gravity points will give them a stranglehold on economic development throughout parts of the sector.”
“Taking Martina will do the same,” Ryman pointed out. “But I think they’re more interested in genocide, Captain. Those bastards slaving for them are likely to be the last to be eaten, but they will be eaten.”
“That is probably true,” Hoshiko said. Where did her responsibilities lie? She had a duty to preserve human life ... and humans were under threat. And, if other races were also under threat, there was an opportunity in the midst of tragedy. She had orders to find new allies for humanity, if she could. “Thank you for your time, Captain.”
“My ship,” Ryman said. “What will happen to her?”
“She really requires a full-scale refit,” Hoshiko said. The bean-counters would probably insist on Ryman buying a new freighter and scrapping the old one, even though she’d managed to get her master and commander out of a lethal hole. “My engineering crews have secured her, for the moment, but it would take months to repair her.”
“I’m not giving her up,” Ryman insisted, firmly. “She’s come a long way.”
“A very long way,” Hoshiko agreed. She understood the overwhelming impulse to protect one’s ship, even though cold logic insisted that repairing the older ship was pointless. “She will be turned back to you, after you recover. After that ... what you do is your own choice.”
Ryman nodded and yawned, loudly. Shari hurried over to him, inspected the life support machine, then jerked her head towards the hatch. Hoshiko understood; she rose, nodded goodbye to the older man, then turned and walked out of the compartment as Shari put Ryman back to sleep. He’d have at least two days of uninterrupted sleep before she woke him. After that ...
He can stay with us or go back to Sol, she thought, as she waited for the doctor. I can arrange for free passage back to the Solar Union, if necessary. He won’t owe us for that.
She closed her eyes and accessed her implants, sending copies of her recordings to her senior staff. They’d have a chance to review them before she called a staff meeting to decide what, if anything, they should do about the crisis. There would probably be a long argument, Hoshiko knew, but she had no intention of allowing anyone to dissuade her from following her first impulse. She had a duty to protect humans and humans were at risk. Taking her squadron to Amstar was the only logical response.
“Captain,” Shari said, as she emerged from the compartment. “Captain Ryman will remain asleep for at least three days. It should be long enough to purge his body and refresh his mind.”
“Good,” Hoshiko said. “And the rest of his crew?”
“The daughter was raped,” Shari said, flatly. “Thankfully, she had a contraceptive implant so there was no danger of an unplanned pregnancy. Physically, she’s fine; mentally, she’s a little shaken up. I’ve left her sedated, for the moment, but she will probably require a considerable amount of help before she’s fit to re-enter society. It isn't just the rape, Captain; it’s the sudden awareness that her father was unable to protect her, that she could be just ... used ... that she could lose all control of her body.”
Hoshiko shuddered. Violent rape was rare in the Solar Union. Between genetic enhancements, augmented strength, implant recordings and lie detectors, a woman had an excellent chance of fighting off a man, summoning help or - if nothing else - ensuring a conviction afterwards. Besides, anyone who felt the impulse to get his or her kicks through violent sex games could find a willing partner on the datanet or simply lose himself in VR simulations. But rape was prevalent on Earth, all the more so as society broke down and law enforcement agencies stopped functioning. She’d heard enough horror stories to know that it wasn't safe to go into a city on Earth without powered combat armour and a marine guard.
“Take care of her,” she said, firmly. “Can we track down the rapist?”
“Probably not,” Shari admitted. “She cleaned herself thoroughly, Captain, probably more than once. That’s not uncommon among rape victims, but it destroyed the evidence. The only DNA I found on her was her own. She may be able to identify the bastard, if she sees him again ...”
“We can try,” Hoshiko said. “And the others?”
“Mainly tired, although the younger ones managed to get some sleep on the flight,” Shari said. “I think they would have been in real trouble if the flight had lasted much longer, Captain - there’s a limit to how far genetic enhancement goes - but thankfully we caught them in time. I’ve had them all sedated, for the moment; I imagine they’ll be glad of the rest.”
“No doubt,” Hoshiko said. They were citizens of the Solar Union, after all. Protecting them was her job. “And the refugees?”
Shari’s face darkened. “I haven't seen them personally, Captain, but I’ve been following the reports from the medics. These people have been through hell. They were half-starved before they were loaded onto the freighter and the food processors simply couldn't keep up with the demand for food. I haven’t seen so many cases of bad nutrition and genetic problems since I was working on one of the intake asteroids, just after I qualified as a doctor and we were getting yet another flood of refugees from Earth. I’d be surprised if some of the children don’t wind up dead within the next couple of weeks anyway, no matter what we do.”
Hoshiko winced. “Is there nothing we can do for them?”
“I’ve put the worst cases in stasis, but I’ve already run out of stasis pods,” Shari said. “They really need extensive nanotech-treatment, Captain. I can work on them one by one, once we have the rest of the refugees under control ...”
She shook her head. “They really need better facilities,” she admitted. “We’re not set up to handle so many casualties. Ideally, we need to keep them in stasis until we get them back to Earth or a fleet base. The facilities on Martina may not be sufficient for the task.”
“Thanks to the Tokomak,” Hoshiko said, sourly. Humanity had been able to unlock the full potential of nanotechnology, but the Tokomak had made damn sure that the nanites they supplied to their client races were deliberately limited. Having made themselves effectively immortal, they’d been determined to make sure that no one else lived so long. “Can we adapt a local autodoc?”
“Probably not,” Shari said. “The Tokomak made certain the base codes couldn't be altered without special access permissions. Trying would merely render the autodoc useless.”
“And we don't have a full-fledged AI on the squadron,” Hoshiko muttered. It was the one concession to the Tokomak fear of artificial intelligence, although humanity’s homemade AIs hadn't become monsters. The Tokomak must have had a bad experience with AI somewhere back in the mists of time. “Cracking the base codes would be beyond us without one.”
“Yes,” Shari said. “Those limitations are hardwired into the base codes.”
The Tokomak might have had a point, Hoshiko conceded, privately. Immortality had turned the Tokomak into a stagnant race, unable to advance because of the growing population of oldsters who kept a firm lock on the levers of political power. Her grandfather, Steve Stuart, had departed the Solar Union because he feared what would happen if he remained as President indefinitely, but there were others who were growing older and older ... and not dying to allow the younger officers a chance to claim the highest positions. Great-Uncle Mongo was still fleet commander despite being in his second century ...
But we’re expanding, she told herself, firmly. There will be room for all of us for thousands of years to come.
Great, her own thoughts answered her. I’m sure the Tokomak thought the same when they cursed themselves with near-immortality.
It was a chilling thought. The Tokomak Navy was the finest in the universe ... when it came to parades, formation flying and stately advances towards its few targets. It hadn't been prepared for anything outside its understanding of warfare, let alone how a determined and innovative race could actually produce newer and better weapons. Could the Solar Navy end up that way, one day? Humanity had had long periods of stagnation on Earth, after all ...
She pushed the thought aside, angrily. “Do what you can for them,” she ordered. By now, her officers would have reviewed the recordings she’d made. “Have a report on their condition uploaded to the datanet by 1700.”
“Aye, Captain,” Shari said. She cleared her throat as Hoshiko turned to go. “Do you expect the locals to play host indefinitely?”
Hoshiko sighed. The human settlements on Martina had agreed to allow the refugees to land, thankfully, but they’d insisted on being paid in advance. Hoshiko had paid out of her emergency expenditure fund, yet she knew it wouldn't last indefinitely. Galactic currency was no longer worth what it had been, two years ago, and human currency was barely recognised outside Sol. It was just another reason to be confident that life in space was far superior to life on a planet.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We may have to arrange transport to Sol. Or see if they can find homes here. But as long as they’re safe, for the moment, that’s all that matters.”
“Yes, Captain,” Shari said.
Chapter Four
Heavy fighting broke out on Intake Asteroid Five between two separate groups of refugees with Earther grudges. Solar Marines moved in, separated the combatants and deported them back to Earth. Their families seemed relieved to be rid of them.
-Solar News Network, Year 54
If he were forced to be honest, Commander Griffin Wilde would have had to admit that he cordially disliked his commanding officer. She was young, the granddaughter of the Solar Union’s founder ... and given command of a squadron as a punishment - or a reward - for shooting her mouth off in public. Griffin, who had seen too many half-trained officers be promoted for being well-connected or ‘diverse’ in the United States Navy, didn't like the idea of such dangerous ideas infecting the Solar Navy. She wasn't an idiot, he had to admit, but she didn’t always think before she acted. It would have been better if she’d been broken of such dangerous habits before she reached flag rank.
But it wasn't quite flag rank, Griffin thought, as he stepped into the cabin. Admiral Stuart had given his grand-niece a ship command as well as squadron command. Hoshiko should have insisted on a promotion to Commodore, and being assigned the staff she needed to serve as the squadron’s commanding officer, instead of trying to split her time between serving as a starship’s commanding officer and serving as the squadron commander. Griffin was honestly unsure if Hoshiko, determined to keep command, had insisted on the arrangement or if her great-uncle hadn't been bothered to make a final judgement. The only thing he could say in her favour was that she hadn't expected him to serve as captain while only drawing a commander’s pay.
“Commander,” Hoshiko said. She was seated on a sofa, sipping tea from a cup. “Please, take a seat.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Griffin said. He sat down facing her and rested his hands in his lap as the steward appeared, carrying a mug of coffee. “The freighter has been completely emptied, for the moment, and we've stripped out the computer cores for analysis.”
“Good,” Hoshiko said, as Griffin took the coffee from the steward. “Did you decompress the ship?”
“I’d prefer to wait until her crew decides what they want to do with her,” Griffin said. “The ship really needs to be scrapped, Captain, but they may have other ideas. And there are probably personal possessions onboard that need to be recovered.”
“Understood,” Hoshiko said. She wasn’t overruling him on a whim, at least. “And our crews?”
“Returned to the ship, Captain,” Griffin said. He frowned, inwardly. There had been something in the way she’d spoken that worried him. “The freighter is currently abandoned and depowered, save for a single beacon.”
Hoshiko nodded, slowly. Griffin studied her, feeling a tangle mixture of impatience and resentment. She wasn't just young, she looked young, like so many of her peers. They’d embraced the fantastic potentials of technology while many of the Earth-born had shied away from them. And they saw no limits in the universe around them. But there were limits, Griffin knew, and some of those limits were deadly.
A low chime echoed in the room. “It's time,” Hoshiko said. “Are you rea
dy?”
Griffin wanted to roll his eyes as the first holographic image popped into view, followed by eight more. Hoshiko had eight captains under her command, rather than the regulation nine; it wasn't the least of the problems facing the squadron that Griffin, a mere commander, had a vote if it came to a council of war. Admiral Stuart should really have kicked his niece upwards, into flag rank, and allowed someone else to take command of Jackie Fisher. It would have made the discussions a little less awkward.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Hoshiko said. “Thank you for attending.”
There was a brief pause as the holographic images organised themselves. Griffin sighed, inwardly; there was a reason most meetings were meant to be face-to-face, rather than via hologram. The captains could be using holographic masks to conceal their true feelings; hell, they could be completely naked and no one would know, as long as they had the common sense to ensure their images wore a mask. Hoshiko might be a child of the Solar Union, but even she had good reason to appreciate personal meetings. She must have a motive to insist on holographic communications for this meeting.
The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Page 4