“Eyes peeled,” Garcia said. Stewart nodded imperceptibly inside his helmet and Alistair fought the growing anxiety in his gut. This was far too large to only be a slave pen.
“What... the... fuck...?” Garcia stopped dead in his tracks as he caught the first glimpse of the prison. Each cell was crammed with bodies, some alive and some dead. Blood flowed freely on the floor, while those who were still breathing inside showed various levels of illness. Some were covered in seeping boils, while others seemed to be losing skin in a way that suggested complete cellular death.
Garcia wretched inside his suit and Stewart was soon to follow.
Alistair, however, took a step forward and turned on his suit lights, keeping it low so as not to hurt the prisoner's eyes. As soon as he did, several of the people skittered backwards, while others growled and crawled toward the bars of the cell.
“Please tell me that's not what I have in my pocket,” Garcia said.
“Shh!” Alistair was trying to determine if they were all suffering from the same affliction or if they were all independent test subjects. Those who had the least remaining living flesh looked outwardly hostile and, as he took a further step forward, one of them leaped at the bars hissing.
“Fuck!” Stewart shouted. “Ubik, are you getting this?”
“Negative, Stewart. The video feed cut out about halfway down your last stairwell,” Lili responded.
“Stewart, head up the stairs. We'll daisy chain our signal back. We need to show .. somebody what's happening here,” Garcia said.
“Right. Good idea,” Stewart responded as he turned and ran up the stairway until his video link was re-established with The Ubik. He wasn't too proud to admit that he was eager to get out of that living hell.
“Alistair, you alright?” Garcia asked.
“No.”
“Uh.. do you want to wait here while I check out the rest of the cells?”
“No.”
“Alright. I'll be by the door so I can relay your signal to Stewart.”
Alistair didn't respond. He didn't flinch when the maddened people in the cage hissed and reached for him. He panned his light around and realized that the most advanced cases were actually eating their cell mates. Others played with limbs or wore them as apparel in a grotesque display of barbarism.
He took a step back and started for the next cell, which had nothing left alive inside. It was a repulsive pile of gore and blood, most of it dried. The smell must have been terrible in here.
The third cell, however, truly broke his heart. It was full of uninfected prisoners, at least 40. The cells were reasonably large and their metal bars told him that they were living quarters and not testing rooms. The infection would have to take place in a hermetically sealed room if the results were to be properly studied.
“Oh god, please! Help us!” One man shouted. He was holding a young boy behind him as he pleaded.
“Don't touch my daughter! Please! Take me!” A woman shouted, tears streaming down her eyes. They were mostly dressed in mining clothes, albeit tattered and filthy ones. Several of the prisoners also donned Republic naval dress.
“I'm.. I'm here to help,” Alistair forced out. He wasn't scared or repulsed. He was sad to his core, his heart breaking from what he was witnessing. These people were those he had set out to protect years ago and, no matter how hard he tried, they were subjected to so much worse than he imagined possible.
“Are any of you infected?” he asked.
“No, they don't do that here – they take us in groups to.. somewhere. I don't know where.” The man with the young boy answered first.
“Alright. Let me look around just a bit more, then I'll open this cage and get you out,” he said while raising his hands in a calming manner, palms facing the prisoners.
“Don't leave us! No, come back!” he heard screamed from behind as he turned and headed down the corridor. Four more cells housed intact prisoners; mothers, fathers, and children crammed into unlivable conditions. Human waste ran through small gutters in the floor covered by steel grates.
He found two more cells full of infected prisoners who were decidedly more hostile than the first he encountered.
“We have to get these people out of here,” he said through his relay to The Ubik. The crew were all stunned and had trouble watching his feeds. None of them wanted to be where he was.
“We don't have the capacity, Alistair,” Lili replied. She was sick to her stomach, but she was still the ship's captain. “Under the worst circumstances the life support of The Ubik can only support one hundred thirty souls... and that's only short term.”
“Then figure something out. I'm not leaving until they're all taken care of. Case closed.” His voice was ice cold and unrelenting. There was no argument to be had here.
“Alright, just, uh – give us a few minutes. We'll come up with something.”
A barely audible grunt was all she could hear as a response.
Alistair, standing at the final human prison he'd discovered, reached for the locking mechanism and crushed it in his armored fist. He then removed the door with a swift pull, and took a step back. The prisoners sheepishly stared at him for a moment before slowly walking toward the door.
“I have a ship. But it's not big enough for everybody. We need to find a way to keep all of you safe until we can get more help here.”
“You're not with the Republic?” A woman asked. Her matted auburn hair stuck to her face, something she didn't notice or care to fix.
“No. We're a .. freelancer group. We were hunting the Pythons and came across this place.”
The crowd fell silent, their murmured whispers coming to a brief end. They had hoped for salvation, but instead found themselves at the mercy of more pirates, it seemed.
“Nearly all of the pirates are dead,” Alistair said as if he had read the crowd's mind. It was obvious that they were afraid of him.
“So if you're not a pirate and you're not with the Republic,” an older male voice said from the back of the crowd, “then maybe we got lucky. Who do you think stuck us in here?”
The man was in naval BDUs and had a very commanding presence. He was significantly older than most of the other prisoners, perhaps in his 70s or 80s. He stood with perfect posture and was clearly strong. Alistair reasoned he was a naval officer of some kind.
“The Republic did this? They're working with the cartel?” Alistair asked. He felt like he knew the answer already, but didn't want to believe it.
“It's a long story. We need to get these people to safety first. Some of us have been in here for a long time. Check the station barracks. There should be plenty of space for us there.”
Alistair nodded and worked his way to the three remaining cells. He removed the doors the same way each time, finding a small sense of satisfaction with the crunching of solid steel in the palm of his hand.
“Lorenzo, I've got the survivors with me. Approximately 250 refugees. One of them recommended that we clear out the barracks and house them all there temporarily.”
“Roger that,” Garcia shot back. Lorenzo? Alistair must have been humbled from what he'd seen. Deep down, he was glad that Alistair had been the one to brave the pits.
“I'm going to take care of the rest of the infected. Excuse me, sir, uh.. what was your name again?” Alistair asked to the older man who'd been providing him council.
“Malcolm Granger. Admiral Malcom Granger, actually.”
Alistair's eyes widened and, before he could respond, Lili inserted herself into the conversation.
“Alistair! Put me on speaker! Now!”
“Uh, yes ma'am!”
“Admiral Granger! It's you! I thought I recognized your face! Sir, it's Captain Liliana Ito! I thought you retired, sir!”
“Liliana? No, I was stowed away by a Republic special forces crew for being a 'willful dissident'. I ended up here a few months back.” The old man's face immediately lit up after hearing Lili's voice. “We'll have plenty of time to
catch up once these people get situated. I'm dying to know how you ended up here with a squad of marines.”
“Lili, I'm cutting you off. I've still got work to do,” Alistair said. His feelings for her were so far from his mind that they may as well have not existed. Lili understood, however, and went back to monitoring the refugees' life signs.
“Admiral, I'm putting you in charge of these people. I've seen a few other military types.” Alistair opened a storage pouch on his armor and retrieved his PCD. “Take this, find the two marines on the stairs, and go find the living quarters. Have Garcia and Stewart use their suit's interface units to unlock whatever weapons they find and arm whichever people you trust.”
The admiral smiled, nodded, and headed up the stairs with conviction. His large group of refugees slowly followed, all of them giving Alistair a wide berth. His suit was covered in blood and stood nearly 9 feet tall... he routinely had to crouch through doors while armored. He also didn't realize that Garcia and Cairenn had painted a white skull across his face mask. He only ever used the suit's internal user interface projection system in low light and hostile areas.
After the refugees had departed, Alistair found himself alone and out of contact with The Ubik. He stared at the infected in their cages; some of them looked human while others had horrific mutations that changed their appearance entirely. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their conditions. They were rapidly changing, however, as even during his short time inside the prison their demeanor had changed. What eyes were once pleading now bored through him with malice. His heart ached and his stomach twisted into knots... he wanted to help them more than anything.
One thing was clear, though. They were beyond help and needed to be put out of their misery. His hammer maglocked to his hip, he reached down and uncoupled the plasma gun from his right thigh.
“I'm so sorry. I will find whoever did this.” A tear streamed down his cheek and he set about his grizzly work.
Chapter 57
As the refugees were settling into their temporary homes, Admiral Granger set about arming guards and taking stock of the station's resources. There were two docked corsairs that were completely uncrewed, both of them having just undergone maintenance. With the assistance of The Ubik, he was able to have both of them reconfigured to act as stationary defensive emplacements, their turrets engaged with Achilles' auto firing AI subroutine.
He already knew the names of every person in his cell, but was now making a point of learning the names and skills of everyone he came across.
He learned that many of the prisoners were former miners and their families from the station, which had previously been known as the Acherus Mining Station. However, pirates had renamed it Iniquity's Den after they took it over and enslaved the mining crews.
Admiral Granger had begun making a 'crew list,' including who had what skills and who was still in shape to work. Most of his people had been imprisoned since the station was taken over, nearly six months prior. He wanted to know what his options were, which meant understanding his limitations. These prisoners had watched their loved ones dragged off for horrific experiments only to be returned as deranged husks of their former selves. The survivors would need time to acclimate to their new freedom, and none of them would ever be the same again.
How long they had before any pirate forces attempted to retake the station, however, he could only guess. All he could do was hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
As he sent out a patrol of former navy crewman to catalog the weapons stockpiles, Garcia and Stewart entered the office Granger had commandeered. It looked like it was used as a mining operations and planning center that the pirates had turned into a room for drinking and cards.
“Admiral Granger,” Garcia said as both men offered up a rigid salute.
“Please, I was disowned by the Republic. Much like you two were, I assume.”
Garcia retracted his suit's glass helmet so he could speak with the man face to face. Stewart soon followed suit.
“I don't mean to upset either of you. You saved our asses out here. I asked for a bit of history on the three of you, surprised that your small boarding team was able to mop up the guards so effectively. If you'd come just a few hours sooner, you'd have had about ten times the fight. Most of the guards accompanied the scientists on some expedition.”
“So you know we're both deserters, sir?” Stewart asked. A proper naval admiral commanded a certain level of respect and even a man who considered himself a traitor to the Republic felt compelled to respect his presence.
“Bullshit. As far as I'm concerned, you're both still Republic and the bastards you shot were traitors. I didn't sign up to gun down civvies and I know I'm not alone in that regard.” The admiral smiled and stuck his hand out. Both of the marines returned the gesture and shook, wary of the enormous strength their oversized metal hands possessed.
“Lili has been sending me as much information as she can to catch me up to speed. She was an old protege of mine a while back. How you ended up with her as your leader is beyond me, but you're in good hands.”
“Actually, sir,” Garcia interjected, “she's technically acting as Commodore. She's captaining the ship, yes, but Alistair has been the one calling the shots. And leading the charge, to boot.”
“Hm. She was a lot less apt to send any information on his background than you two. Figured he was military because of the suit.”
“If you want to know his background, you'll have to ask him yourself, sir.” Stewart pointed behind the Admiral at Alistair, who had just entered the room.
“We need to get back to the ship so Achilles can upload the data dump from the station,” he said. There were no pleasantries or greetings.
“It's uploading now, actually. A few of the prisoners were communication techs. They patched us up with a more robust system. Should be finishing up in about three minutes. It was a lot of data.”
“So now what?” Alistair asked.
“Hell, these boys just told me you're in charge. And now you ask them what you should do?”
Alistair slid back his face mask and locked eyes with the Admiral. An unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object.
“Sorry, son. Just trying to lighten the mood around here. Don't take it the wrong way. I'd say thank you, but no amount of thanks will ever do it justice.”
Alistair nodded, opened a compartment on the front of his suit, and retrieved a cigar.
“Shit, no light,” he mumbled to himself.
The Admiral's eyes widened at the sight of tobacco, and said “I'm sure I can find one for a spare stogie.”
Despite the obvious conflicts he and the Admiral were sure to experience in the future, Alistair already liked him. He had two spare cigars in pouch and handed them both to the Admiral.
“Corporal!” The man shouted. “I need a lighter ASAP. Or a torch. Or a plasma gun.”
A man in his twenties chuckled, saluted, and ran off to find some type of lighter.
Chapter 58
With the boarding party helping Admiral Granger get the refugees situated, Rachel decided to take The Ubik in closer so Achilles could do a deeper scan of the station. He was working on unpacking the massive data packet Stewart had sent him, but they needed to be sure that there were no surprises in store for the free prisoners. They also needed to get Garcia back on board with the bio weapon. Their immediate goal, however, was the safety of Granger's refugees.
“It looks like the station is totally clear, Garcia,” Rachel said through comms. “We aren't seeing any signs of life outside of the refugees in the barracks or the militia patrols Granger set up.”
“Copy that. Thanks, Rach. Any idea what we should do with these people long term?” he asked. His face plate was still open, and Admiral Granger along with the rest of the boarding party could hear him.
“Could we contact the Republic Navy?” Rachel suggested.
“Not on your life,” Granger interrupted. “These tests are b
eing run by them. They've got plans for something, although I can't figure out what. I'm sure it has to do with their increasing colonial pacification efforts, though.”
“So what do you recommend, sir?” Garcia asked. He was genuinely at a loss for ideas.
“We stay here,” one of the miners said. She approached cautiously, obviously still coming to terms with the horrific sights forced upon her.
“The Republic branded us all traitors and rebels. The Burmean Pythons hunted us through these halls like dogs. We don't want to stay here, but we have no choice. The first Republic scan to pick us up will arrest us and send us all to the gallows, or worse.”
Granger shook his head. He knew she was right. After being spirited away at night by a team of black ops, he was given a secret military tribunal where he was stripped of rank and sentenced to death. Any objections on his part were met with a rifle butt to the stomach.
“I have to agree with Ms., uh..”
“Gibson, sir,” she replied.
“Ms. Gibson is right. We're all criminals. We were all sentenced to death without fair trial or representation. The Republic is our enemy now, that much is clear.”
Alistair frowned. They were all party to the death of their Republic that so many men and women had fought for, bled for, died for. Months ago, none of his crew even realized there was a problem and now they were witnessing the death throes of the most powerful nation mankind had ever created. Civil unrest was becoming commonplace, whether in the form of domestic terrorism or food strikes. As had happened to so many nations before, the elite kept taking until the masses were left wanting.
And now it was all coming to a head. What the next weeks and months held for the Republic was anyone's guess, but it was clear that more bloodshed was inevitable and would be on a scale never before witnessed by humanity.
“You're sure that you'll be okay staying here, Ms. Gibson?” Alistair's eyes spoke of true concern. He would not abandon these people if he wasn't sure that they'd be safe.
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