by Chris Hechtl
“Keep me posted,” the Admiral said.
Clancy was stabilized in sickbay but died of a heart attack from a nightmare in the night.
The next morning the marines pulled a full court press search on the brig. They woke the prisoners up and forced them out under careful watch of the marines in body armor, and the robots. The Horathians were confused, but some noted the new uniforms and mocked the crew. A few were beaten for their sharp tongues. Gustov landed on the excessive force when he caught it in the act. He wasn't very sympathetic to the victim however.
Some of the prisoners complained about the lack of activities, the crowding, and the poor food. Lewis laughed bitterly. “Let me get this straight. You bitch and whine about what we had to put up with for a year? In between the torture and beatings you put us through? You want a real sample of what you put us through asshole?” he snarled.
That shut the Horathians up.
When they escorted the prisoners back to the brig one lingered near the back. He leaned close to a suddenly wary Burrows. “I'd like to be separated if I may. I'd like to talk to your Commander,” he murmured.
“I just bet you would,” Lieutenant Burrows growled. “Ain't happening,” he said.
“You don't understand. I'm a Doctor,” the man said, turning to the Lieutenant. I saw what happened. I've seen what they have done. I'm not from Horath; I was picked up, enslaved really, like you. I want out.”
“I... shit,” Burrows sighed. He pulled the man out of line. Lewis turned to him.
“What gives?” he asked, nodding his chin to the prisoner.
“He's asking for asylum. Said he's not from Horath. I think the Admiral may want to hear his story.”
Lewis studied the prisoner for a long moment. Finally he shrugged.
“We'll see,” he said. “I'll make a call,” he said.
<----*----*----*---->
The Admiral and Ian looked up from their seats in the wardroom as Burrows escorted the prisoner in.
The older man looked around, and then down to the two holographic avatars on the table, one of Sprite, another of Bounty. Sprite moved aside as Defender appeared beside her briefly and then moved back when the AI pulled back.
“So it's true. You have AI,” the man said, staring.
“That and a lot more,” the Admiral replied. He was a bit annoyed to lose Kinja, Sisko, and a few of the ratings to Hoshi's team. Caid was apparently no loss, nor was Diegan according to Sindri. “You want asylum?”
“Yes. I am Doctor Hasad. I was taken from my home to serve the Horathian's. I am not like them. I don't want to be them.”
“Okay, doc, let's start from the beginning. We haven't had the time to interview the prisoners, so unfortunately you've been left in there a while. Why didn't you come forward earlier?” Ian asked. “For that matter, why didn't you say something to us when we were prisoners?”
“I... couldn't,” the man said uncomfortably. I was a prisoner myself, and watched. Always watched. Always a guard or someone near. Near you or me.”
“I see,” the Admiral said before Ian could say anything else. “What planet are you from? Star system?”
“I am from New Horizon. When the fleet passed through the system, they stopped to conquer my planet,” he said and stopped. His face worked in a mix of helpless anger and grief. “Apparently the Doctor on this ship was not up to par. The Captain demanded the best from Capital city. I was asked to volunteer or they would kill my people,” he shrugged. “And here I am.”
“Here you are. Here we are,” Ian said, studying the man. “All this time and you never said a thing. Never whispered, never looked, never passed a note. No kind word or deed Doctor,” he said, practically spitting out the last word.
“I'm sorry,” the Doctor said simply, shoulders hunched, head down. “I did the best I could for those I could.”
“I see,” Ian said.
“There are others like me. Some of your former crewmates. They did what they had to do to survive.”
“And you'll vouch for them?” Irons asked.
“Yes,” the man said, spreading his hands as far as the handcuffs and chains would allow. “What else would I do?”
“You look like you once wore glasses,” the Admiral said, sitting back. The man had gray hair and muttonchops. He was wearing an orange jump suit. Gustov had issued the prisoners orange jumpers to make them stand out from the crew. Each was stenciled with prisoner on the back and tagged with micro tracking devices.
“Interrogation insufficient for loyalty test Admiral,” Defender stated. “But ship records confirm his origin and identity. His voice stress analysis also confirms his story.”
“The AIs are analyzing you now,” the Admiral said, leaning forward. The man blinked at him. Ian turned in surprise. “They have confirmed your identity and your statements. I am curious though about you and what you have seen.”
“I... can I have a drink of water?” the man asked. “It is a long story. I do not know much of what happened outside sickbay, but all I know is yours.”
“All right,” the Admiral said, nodding at the offer of cooperation. “We'll have you moved to a separate cabin. You will be under house arrest and guarded. Do you accept that?” The man nodded. “I will remind you, you will be under surveillance at all times. You will also be expected to answer all questions truthfully. No evasions.”
“Yes, I understand,” the Doctor said. “To just get out of there,” he shivered. “That man died right?”
The Admiral nodded.
“I thought so. I heard them plotting. I saw as two held him down calling him a traitor while the other stabbed him over and over. I don't want that happening to me. Some of the others have been threatened.”
“We'll take them one case at a time,” the Admiral said. He waved a hand. “Commander Sprite?” Sprite's avatar turned to him. “Work with security and the exec here to arrange quarters and treatment for the Doctor. And please work with Lieutenant Defender and Bounty in questioning the Doctor.”
“Aye sir,” Sprite said on her best behavior.
The Admiral returned his attention to the Doctor. “If you are truthful and the AI believe you aren't a security risk, we will see about a posting on one of the ships. Few men get second chances to do the right thing Doctor, don't blow it,” he said.
The Doctor nodded. Irons waved to Burrows to escort him back out.
“You don't think he's playing you sir?” Ian asked.
Irons turned to him. “First, he's been vetted by the AI. The Horathian's didn't have time to purge their files, so we took that part intact. Right Sprite?”
“Yes sir. He is who he says he is. So far his story checks out. We can't confirm anything that wasn't recorded in the ship's logs or files however.”
“Okay,” Ian said, nodding. “But did he come here like he said he did? It still bothers me.”
“It bothers me a bit too. But Defender was running a voice stress analysis and temperature analysis on the good Doctor while we talked. So far, that was proven true as well. Correct?”
“Yes sir,” Defender admitted.
“The AI will go over him and pick his brain. In the process they will vet him.”
“I'd like to be in it sir. Or, Gustov or someone.”
“You mean you don't trust us?” Sprite asked, turning. She smiled. “I'm hurt,” she teased.
Ian blinked in confusion. “Don't mind her,” the Admiral said, waving a hand. “And it would be nice to have someone else in on the interrogations. If only to learn the ropes.”
“I... see.”
“Sprite if you have any intelligence or criminologists, or other similar career track minded people, please have them sit in.”
“Will do Admiral,” Sprite replied with a nod.
“We may give them a second chance Commander,” the Admiral turned to Ian. “But we don't have to be stupid about it. We'll watch him and anyone else. If you've got a few in mind, let me know. We'll separate them out.”
<
br /> “Separate the sheep from the goats. Or wolves as the Admiral said.”
“Outside the influence of the Horathians, the people may try to revert to their previous roles in the crew, reestablish old ties and try to make amends. Or they may be pressured by the prisoners to pretend to do so. We shall see.”
“Sir, it is a distraction and a potential security risk,” Defender replied. “I renew my protests.”
“They are on record. And as I said Lieutenant, you'll be the primary part of the vetting service. So get it right the best you can. We might let a goat or two slip through, but hopefully they slip up early enough and we can toss them back in the brig. They won't get a third bite at the apple though,” he said.
“Good.”
<----*----*----*---->
After Clancy's death the Admiral revisited the request at segregation and wordlessly granted it. He had a compartment next to the brig cleared. Fortunately it was a small cargo bay. Engineers followed Defender's plans and outfitted the compartment with bunks welded to the walls, a small latrine, and a different hatch. This one had a slot to pass meals through, or secure prisoners.
Hidden cameras and microphones were planted all over the compartment. They would have to be fed through the slot. Marines were briefed to treat them with caution and not to allow any sexual contact.
Gustov had the ladies report to the brig hatch. The ladies moved quickly. One was goosed by a male. Another male tried to stop them but she silently got around him. One by one the ladies were scanned and searched by nurse Glenn. Two had improvised shivs, both were confiscated. Then they were securely cuffed, hooded, and then escorted to their new living quarters where they were set free. A guard was posted outside their hatch at all times.
“It didn't take them long,” Sprite said sounding amused.
“Take who long?” the Admiral asked distractedly as he worked on the hyperdrive controls.
“The female prisoners. It was a partial ploy. Two tried to find a way out. They are tapping on the bulkheads. The others have settled down in their bunks.”
“Given up?”
“Or just biding their time.”
“Possible. What else?”
“Well, Lieutenant Glenn is doing well with the Therapy sessions. She has two scheduled daily. About an hour each. It's hard on her though.”
“Hopefully she'll pick up a couple people who can help her out and pick up the slack. Give her a break,” the Admiral said.
“I'm tapped out Admiral,” Sprite said. “Though I can give the occasional appearance if they are okay with it. Since it is medical I don't want to tread on any toes and violate anyone's right to privacy.”
“Sure,” the Admiral said, noting the white lie in that statement but letting it go. “Anything else?”
“I think we've narrowed the field for the other prisoners. The ones we talked about. I have ten possibly twelve candidates in mind. I've run them past the crew for recommendations and referrals. Two stand out, they tried to help the prisoners by slipping them scraps or going easy on them when they thought the Horathian's weren't looking.”
“We'll see then.”
<----*----*----*---->
Twelve of the prisoners were identified as former crew of one of the freighters. They were interviewed and judged to be worthy of a second chance. All of the turncoats were closely monitored by the AI. Two turned out to be acts within hours, and after getting caught they were immediately returned to the brig. Sprite and Bounty were amused when the triple turncoats flopped down in disgust.
“How'd it go?” One prisoner asked.
“Hey, why are you back?” Another demanded. “I thought...”
“What does it look like? It went shitty,” the turncoat grumbled, arms crossed, sullen.
“Ah, poor widdle babies don't like getting caught,” Sprite mocked. “Gee, it's not nice when the other side doesn't play along right?” she said sweetly from the overhead. The prisoners looked up and then growled.
“Ah shut up bitch,” the guy said, turning over.
Later Sprite heard the turncoat whisper a report to the room. She was amused. Apparently the changes to the ship and crew had an impact on the prisoners.
<----*----*----*---->
“How are we doing?” the Admiral asked Lieutenant Cortez. The older man had easily settled into his new rank. He'd been a deck Chief on Le More, so it seemed like he could handle the job.
“All fine and dandy sir,” Cortez replied. He waved to someone moving a push pull. “But I've got to handle this if you'll excuse me,” he said. Irons nodded as the man trotted off. The Admiral returned to checking the launch out. His little launch had been brought on board the ship to make it easier to service her. Since the pinnace was out moving his gas giant refinery to its proper place in the Jovian's atmosphere, they had the room. Barely.
He shook his head. The tin can's boat bay was dangerously over crowded. It was designed to handle a couple fleet launches, maybe a cargo shuttle. Not three fighters, a Skyhawk, and a pinnace. The two shuttles had massive wings. Sure they folded, but they were still a pain in the ass on the tight deck.
Fortunately, Cortez had come up with a partial solution. He had suggested and the Admiral had approved of a cradle system along one wall. The Admiral and Proteus had had to do a bit of structural redesign based on the blueprints, but they had managed to figure it out within a few hours. Now all three fighters could be stored in a stack against that wall, all neatly held and ready to be moved out. That gave them a great deal more deck space.
The other plan Cortez had suggested was to hang a shuttle from the overhead. The Admiral was of two minds about the idea. He'd done it a few times before, but the boat bay wasn't very high to begin with, barely thirty meters. A ship that came in too high could hook a shuttle there with disastrous consequences for all around.
Two women approached Irons on the flight deck. He looked up in surprise, both wore flight suits but he didn't recognize them right off. Neither woman had been in the group to sign on, one had been in sickbay recovering he thought. He recognized the red hair from one of the patients.
“Glad to see you two up and about,” he said, nodding to both. “I heard you are pilots?” he asked. Both women nodded. “And you are reporting for duty?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” the silver haired beauty said. She had porcelain skin but a cold look about her.
“Oh?”
“Sir, the fighters,” the slightly taller lady asked. The other girl looked down, hands clasped in front of her.
Irons studied them. Both ladies were clean, in tight form fitting silver flight suits that seemed custom tailored. They had their collars open down to their cleavage. They also sported a pistol belt and pulser on their right hips. Both were of average build, but incredibly thin. The red head was strikingly beautiful, but shy. Her hair had been cut, from the look butchered. It was slowly growing out. She had the look of an airhead, but she was quiet. The other woman had striking silver hair. She reminded him of the Chief of security on the Io 11.
Both were rakishly thin. From what Sprite had reported, all the women had been raped almost weekly. Some had broken, but these two seemed to have regained their spine. Meia, the silver haired woman according to Sprite's ever-helpful nametag on his HUD, looked fiercely determined for some reason.
“We're going to fix them up. Eventually.” He currently had one pilot for the fighters, but the young man was iffy. He had little flight time and his enthusiasm was tempered with a rational realization that he could very well die in one of the fighters. He had a healthy, almost fearful approach to the idea of flying in combat. That was a concern.
“We want to fly them,” Dita said quietly but with a brief show of backbone. “If that's okay.”
“Are you willing to sign on as naval officers? Undergo training, implants, and naval discipline?”
“Whatever it takes,” Meia said, meeting his eyes with her own. “I'm not going to let this happen to me or any
one else. Never again.”
Irons studied what was there for a long moment. “Good,” Sprite commented. “They have spine. Most women traumatized like that...” he waved her commentary away. Right now he didn't need a lesson on rape trauma.
“You'll have to undergo counseling. You will be flying space craft with enough fire power to destroy a station or starship.”
“And you don't trust us,” Meia said. “Typical.”
“I didn't say that. I am actually all for it,” Irons replied.
They blinked at him in consternation. “You are?” Dita asked, voice rich with hope.
“You two are pilots right?” The Admiral asked. He already knew they were, Sprite's tentative dossier was on his HUD with an image and brief bio of each lady. Both had clean records. They had also been flying since they had turned twelve. That said a lot about their skills, flying shuttles that were held together with rigging tape in some cases, that young, and never having an accident.
Both ladies nodded.
“Fine then. You'll need to run the sims, and then we'll work on implants and training.”
“Implants...” Meia said.
“It's not as bad as it sounds.”
“I'm okay with it,” Meia said. She rubbed her arm, looking down. “Whatever it takes.”
“Okay,” Irons replied, equally quiet. “We'll get started then. Sprite,” he looked up. “We'll need two tablets with an outline on what to do here. Training, implants, and more training.” He turned to the ladies. “You do realize you are going to need a week of training minimum before you can strap these on right? Once we get them to Federation standard they will be a handful even with implants.”
Dita's face fell at the idea of waiting so long, but Meia merely nodded. “Whatever it takes sir,” she said, standing at attention. “We'll get it done.”
“That you will cadet,” he replied. “We'll go through the oath once you see what you are getting into. If you are still willing, we'll start with the oath and work down from there.”
A robot came up and handed each lady a tablet. The two studied the screens briefly. Clearly Dita was dismayed. “All this?” she asked, voice a bit shaky.