by Chris Hechtl
“Yeah, whatever. He'll learn quick if he wants to live.” The guard behind the desk said, sounding bored. “Did you search him?”
“No. Not my catch.”
“Stupid,” the corporal snarled. “Do it quick.”
Rough hands patted John down. They found a few tools he had in his pockets and tossed them onto the desk. They were rough, ripping a hip pocket. One even grabbed his genitals, making the Admiral freeze. The pervert felt him up for a second, getting in his face to look him in the eye. “Oh this one likes this. He's going to be fun,” the guy said. His breath stank of rotten teeth. Irons didn't look away. “Oh yeah, you have spirit. Lieutenant Sikes is right, it's more fun to break em when they have balls like these!” the guy said squeezing.
Irons gasped in pain.
“Quit playing around Johanen. We've got other shit to do.”
“Why? You want to get back to the barracks so bad so the gunny can get us doing make work?”
“Shut up. I want to see the show that's why. Besides, I'm off shift, shit head,” the thug behind the Admiral said. “He's clean,” he said in a bored voice, turning to the corporal.
The corporal waved a hand. “Then by all means, send him in. Let the show begin,” he said, smiling nastily.
Chapter 6
The Admiral took a quick look around the compartment, identifying people and assessing their condition quickly. Sprite highlighted a few people and things of interest.
His mussing was abruptly cut short when one of the prisoners got up off a bunk and came over to him. He was certain from the big male's posture he was there to confront him. He was a big human male, about thirty, with scars on his face and hands. A big bald brawler, wide about one hundred eighty two centimeters tall, with a snake tattoo that started with the head of the snake on his brow with gaping fangs. The rest of the cobra's hood was spread over the top his head. The body of the snake apparently extended down the back of his head and neck then twined down his left shoulder. “New meat. Dead meat,” the man said sounding amused as he sized John up.
Irons brought his passive sensors up briefly and did a sweep of the compartment. The guards were watching behind the bars behind him, eager for some show. Studying the burly prisoner he realized he was attempting to establish his authority. He placed his arms up defensively, trying to wave the guy off. “Look man, I don't want any trouble. We're all in the same ship here. There is no need to fight. I don't want to fight you.”
“Too bad meat, I do,” the guy responded and threw a round house at his jaw. Defender kicked on before he could stop the AI, he went into defense mode and the Admiral leaned back and ducked. The swing went into open air, throwing the giant off balance.
“So be it,” the Admiral muttered, recovering swiftly. He blocked a back swing and the fight was on.
Admiral Irons followed through with a rush at the guy’s chest, slamming into him and bringing them both to the deck. He followed the slam into a tuck and roll, landing on his feet to spin. The giant was slowly getting to his feet, brushing himself off and eying the new meat warily. The other prisoners and guards were cheering wildly, stamping feet and screaming to kill.
“I think you should back off while you’re ahead,” the other prisoner said, smiling grimly. The large man stared at him and wiped his mouth. Irons felt his tongue over his own swollen lips. He turned his head slightly and spat on the deck. “Let's just settle down.”
Enraged the man charged, and Admiral Irons casually slapped aside two punches before stomping on his opponent's foot. The man howled and backed off John didn't stop there. He followed that up with a rapid series of blows to disable the man. The crowd had gone silent as the man fell, but Admiral Irons quickly stepped in and helped the man to sit up and breathe.
“You'll be fine, just concentrate on your breathing. You're a brawler I can tell. Not much into science, but pretty good.”
The man coughed, hand on his chest. Weakly he brushed John away. Irons stepped back and did another assessment of the compartment and situation.
He did a head count. There were forty prisoners, and three of them looked angry. Some were confused. A few of the other prisoners sported bleak faces. They looked like they were communicating pity for his predicament, and for his joining them.
Most of the confused ones were likely friends of the leader so Admiral Irons nodded to them. “You're friend will be fine. He got the wind knocked out of him. He could use a little water though,” he said, looking at the man.
Warily one nodded to another to get the drink. Admiral Irons stood slowly and stretched. It was instructive to see if they had access to water. He would need it to fuel his systems if he couldn't tap an electrical line.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Sprite said in exasperation.
“What?” he turned fighting the urge to speak out loud. He'd been spoiled too long speaking with the AI out loud over using his implants exclusively. “What do you mean?” he texted back.
“I should have known you wouldn't have been able to keep a lid on your temper for long. That fight was what you think you needed, but it could be bad. Look at them. Listen to them. Now they know they have someone more dangerous than themselves in their midst. Don't be too surprised if they throw you a blanket party. Or if they try to slit your throat.”
“Shit.”
He fought the urge to look around as he went over to a wall. Men got out of his way. There were few women in the compartment, just six. The half dozen stuck together, well five did and one was apparently a Horathian. He was surprised there were any females. The Horathians were brutal to their prisoner slaves. They only kept Neo's and gene engineered humans alive if they knew an important skill. Women tended to be fodder for their entertainment. Sick entertainment. He looked in their direction, careful not to stare. He was surprised there were Horathian's in the compartment at all.
“They screwed up. Ships discipline, but I'm betting a few are shills to keep the prisoners in line,” Sprite said. The Admiral nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Everyone was warily watching him he noted. That was both good and bad. Sprite was right, he'd fracked up. He leaned against the wall and tried to relax.
He realized now he had made himself a target, the guards now knew he was more dangerous than assumed, and his fellow prisoners were unsure of the pecking order.
The water boy came back and then hesitated. Apparently he didn't like the idea of coming too close to the new predator in their midst.
The Admiral nodded curtly and tapped his data from his passive sweep. He silently digested its log while stepping aside from the fallen former leader. The ship’s computers were locked down and they couldn’t be remotely accessed. There were only video cameras in the room, no audio.
“Who are you stranger?” one man asked and then coughed. The Admiral studied him, noting the bruised ribs and contusions on his face and arms. He had electrical burns on one arm.
“My name is John. John Doe, Captain of the Phoenix.”
“Bite your tongue sonny. There can only be one Captain on this ship. He's on the bridge. Here you are a slave,” the gruff voice said, shaking his head. “What'd you say your ship's name was again?”
“Phoenix. I'm out of Hidoshi's World. I was en-route to Destria when this happened,” he said, waving helplessly.
“I see,” the man said, shaking his head. He smiled ever so slightly. Irons could see he was missing teeth. “I'd say make yourself at home but they aren't very hospitable around here,” he said bitterly.
“Yeah, I saw that,” the Admiral said, glancing over his shoulder to the grumbling guards behind him. He nodded to some of the other prisoners who weren't closed faced. Some of the prisoners began making introductions.
Captain Luscious Franx was the former Commander of the Le More; a small freighter captured a week prior to the Admiral's arrival. The small wiry human was badly beaten, with two black eyes, missing teeth and welts on his neck. He could see some badly healing ribs and
some minor internal injuries. Two of his fingers on his right hand were broken. His right wrist had a hairline fracture; he kept the hand close to his chest. “The lady over there is Karen Hoshi,” Captain Franx said, indicating a small battered Asian woman at the center of the knot of five women.
Exec Karen Hoshi from the Jaw-te was introduced and Admiral Irons tried to avoid her haunted eyes. The woman's injuries... his jaw set. There would be a reckoning that he vowed; for her and for all the other women who never had a chance. His look apparently spooked her and others. They growled darkly and looked away.
Irons nodded. At least they had some spirit left. He wondered if their fellow prisoners were as guilty as the guards and crew in their depravity. He hoped not. He looked at the Horathian's among them. Though some... he thought warily. Some were capable of just about anything, he thought.
He focused on the other man who looked like an officer. He read the battered nametag. Captain Ian something, he couldn't make out the last name. The man was tall and well built, but had about as many bruises and welts as the other two captains. There weren't any broken bones, but he had a bit of a limp. He had reddish hair and the look of an Irish man.
A quarter of the survivors were engineers, but surprisingly, ten were officers. He thought they would have been killed right off, but apparently the concentration of knowledge in one person was too much of a resource to just throw away. At least in humans, he thought darkly.
It made sense in a way. Freighters, especially those in this time period had to have officers that were generalists. Officers had to know each duty and also how to fix a problem so they could make certain the rating that did the task did it right.
Of course that wasn't quite true, there were specialists, such as helmsman and navigators. Two of the officers were helmsman another was a navigator. But most small freighters didn't have the room to have people in one dedicated slot many did double duty. Some rose through the ranks to get to their specialty. He shook his head.
He shook hands with each of the officers. Some were battered and wary, some had their heads down. He didn't keep track of the introductions knowing Sprite would do that for him. He was horrible at names anyway.
He listened to them each informed how their ships had been taken. Jaw-te had been taken first; most of her crew were gone, only a handful survived. Anderson had been taken second. Most of her engineering compliment was still alive. She had tried to run, but the destroyer had caught her long before she could get to the jump point. The Captain and exec had been executed. Only a handful of her officers remained.
Captain McGuyver's Deianira had been taken three months ago. Le More had been taken a month ago. Most of their alien crew had been executed or used as slave labor to man the ships and take them back to the Horath system. “So, who's the bruiser and what beef does he have with me?” John asked, nodding his chin to the Horathian.
“Horathian, so watch what you say. There are a few here, they are either spies or trouble makers the Captain decided to lock up.”
“Great,” the Admiral sighed.
“His name's Bard. He's, well, he was a master Chief. Now I'm not sure. Apparently he pissed off the exec and Captain and now he's here.”
“King of the hill?” John asked.
Captain Franx looked at him for a moment. “Something like that,” he admitted. “I'm surprised you know that.”
“I've been around,” John replied. “Seen a few things,” he said, slurring slightly as he spat blood. The blood was more for show; Proteus had everything under the skin repaired. He looked over to see a woman and a few other men around the big guy Bard. “Followers?”
Franx looked that way. “Like I said, Horathians the rankers and filers. They were sent here for minor infractions. Some will be out in a day or week so don't get too chummy, they will turn on you the moment they are out of here.”
“I'm surprised they keep them in here with you. I mean us,” John said.
“I did say spy right? Besides, this is a small warship. Tight quarters,” the Captain said, smiling without any humor. John nodded.
“How did you get into this mess?”
“Just jumped in,” John said wearily. He rubbed at his scalp. It was a bit sore, but Proteus was finally doing something about that.
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. I ran a bit off, south of the entry point, but I figured I was good.”
“How did you get the ship?”
“I scavenged her a couple of years ago. She's,” he paused and then shrugged. “Well, she had been a yacht and then a courier before and during the war,” he said, nodding his head. They understood the reference. Several people nodded.
“What'd you say your name is again?” a voice asked, sounding suspicious.
“John. John Doe,” the Admiral replied, raising his voice to be heard throughout the room. He glanced to the door just in time for the guards to slam the outer steel door shut. He wondered about that. The brig on the Io 11 had had a force field. Yet here, they relied on a steel door. It was... quaint. Odd. Surprisingly practical, but still... old fashioned.
He was not amused by the ruse, not one person laughed at his assumed name, nor how fake it. John Doe should have set off alarm bells, but apparently over the past seven centuries the name like 'John Doe' had been forgotten.
“Oh, you couldn't think of something better? Or original?” Sprite asked in exasperation. “Remember that,” she said. “Think of yourself as John only, not as your rank. Civilian. Act like it,” she urged.
He gave her a choppy nod and a motion to remain silent.
“So, how'd you end up alone? They keeping your crew alive on the ship? Or did they kill them?”
“No, just me, thankfully,” John said, shaking his head. The other officers were surprised. He shrugged. “What can I say?” he asked, spreading his hands. “She's a small ship and I'm very good with computers.”
“Really good to handle her on your own,” Captain Franx said eyeing him.
“Well, I couldn't find anyone who I could stand to be around,” the Admiral said, trying to sound defensive. “I snore.”
There was a snort of disbelief over that. “Right.”
“Like I said, small ship. She has, or I should say, had a smart 'puter. Real smart. Kept me on my toes moving around fixing stuff.” John felt at his jaw briefly. “Besides, I'm not a people person.”
“Oh.”
There were looks around the group. He wondered why and then remembered their tech level and software skills. Just about everyone got by with plug and play, they had no clue on coding. He frowned, trying to think of a way out of it and then shrugged. There was little point; he had let part of the cat out of the bag.
“An AI?” Franx asked.
The Admiral shook his head. “Dumb AI. Not a smart one, but damn snarky. No one could stand him.”
“Him? I thought they were usually female?”
“Another reason they couldn't stand him. And he was malicious. If you didn't do what he wanted he'd nag the crap out of you or get even in damn horrible ways.”
“Ah.”
“Besides, I'm a sleeper. I was awakened a couple years ago.”
There were murmurs over this news. “Ooooh. Implants?”
“The basics,” Irons said, shrugging. He showed them his left arm with the civilian jack. He pulled his sleeve back down after a moment. “Probably why I am still alive. I'm glad I wasn't jacked in when they hit me with that force beam or whatever it was.”
“They have implants too. Informational implants. Crude ones though,” Captain Franx said, looking at his jack and then up to his head. “But yeah, they probably kept you alive for that. That and more,” the battered Captain said and then stopped as he coughed.
“More?” John asked as the civilian got his coughing fit under control.
“Intelligence value. That and any skills we may have,” a red headed freckled male said. “Captain Ian McGuyver,” he said, waving a hand. John did a quick si
ze up. Ian was in his mid forties, about one hundred sixty five centimeters tall and thin. He had a fading black eye and some contusions and bruises, but the most striking thing was how starved he looked. Ian grunted when John didn't respond right off.
John nodded slowly.
“We're kept for that, and their entertainment,” a deep bass voice rumbled. The Admiral turned to a short squat male. He could pass for a fantasy dwarf, with his massive one hundred and twenty centimeter frame. He had a long brown beard, balding on top, and bushy eyebrows to complete the look. The only thing out of place was the filthy coverall he had on. From the look it had been made for someone taller and not as broad, the sleeves and ankles were rolled up and some areas seemed bursting at the seams.
“What are you looking at stranger?” the guy grumbled. He stared back at John with piercing black eyes.
“Don't mind him, he's being a shit on left, right, and center,” Ian said, shaking his head. He was the Chief engineer of the Anderson. When he couldn't fix her they put him on toilet duty.”
“Because I'm so short,” the smaller man grumbled. He had a broad bulbous nose and big lips. He also had a take no prisoner stare. “Which suits me just fine. I'd rather be doing that than helping those slikes,” he said, stroking his beard. He had a bit of a brogue in the way he spoke. John nodded.
“Is Anderson dead?”
“She's as dead as they come lad. Lost her hyperdrive. Flatline. And her fusion reactor went cold. They say they can restart her, but there is no point to it,” the big man said, shaking his head.
“She was holed too. She's been used as a source for parts to rebuild the other ships,” Ian said. He looked at the engineer. The small man muttered curses under his breath, much of them in protest. The Admiral glanced his way and then nodded. No spacer liked the idea of sending their ship, what amounted to their home, their world, to the breakers. It was heart breaking.
“We had pirates in my time, but I never thought of something like this. Maybe in a bad holo drama...” the Admiral shook his head. Ian shook his head as well. “I'm guessing they aren't planning on ransoming us?”