They heard his no longer careful and quiet steps as he walked around the captives, and stopped to the right of Reynolds about ten feet away. He was carrying one of the Krall plasma rifles, pointing a human one in Reynolds general direction.
“Mr. Reynolds, I no longer consider you worthy of the rank you previously held, yet I would like to know what the Krall offered you to turn you to their side. You don’t appear to be particularly beaten down, as past collaborators have been, and your left arm has been regrown under their tender care. None of you appears to be in poor shape. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “The answer is simple, if difficult to believe, because none of us have been turned by the Krall. The parts of our force you saw leave just now is on their way to finish the attack we started on the Krall clanship you mentioned. A smaller force captured some parked Dragons and portable plasma cannons, and used those to disable the main thruster so it can’t lift. They didn’t have enough people with them to take the ship after they knock out the main guns, so we sent them some help. There are over a hundred Krall warriors still aboard the other ship.”
“That’s a nice bit of bullshit Reynolds. I was only told to bring a few of you back alive. I don’t need you if you intend to tell me fairy tales.” He raised his rifle.
Thad spoke up. “Not only is that the truth, but your satellite surveillance can easily confirm the activity there. We’ve lost two of our group to their return fire, and have killed at least fifteen Krall, using their own captured weapons against them.”
“I think you saw the same cloud cover that I did this afternoon, so you are stalling for time. Did you really believe we would accept that you could steal their weapons, and then beat any of them using them? Except for the four older men we’ve seen, all of your so-called troops look like kids, and about a third are girls. I heard you address them as TGs. What does that designate?”
“I am a Second Generation product of a project to improve humans so they can fight the Krall, an SG if you will. These younger people are Third Generation, or TGs. If I’m not mistaken, you yourself are a member of Special Ops, a group that is a product of another project to increase human effectiveness against the Krall. Our TGs are almost certainly a far greater step in that direction than you have achieved. We came to Poldark specifically to show General Nabarone what we can do, and to share intelligence and technology that you do not have. I was once a friend of the general.”
“We know, and his link to you has been discovered. However, I don’t answer to the general because my chain of command is outside his control. Don’t plan on an appeal to his friendship to protect you. I’m authorized to execute any of you that I deem uncooperative. One thing I need from you right now is access to the key that allows you to operate a Krall plasma rifle. And per your unsubstantiated claim, use their Dragons, clanships, I presume, and that shuttle that just departed.”
Thad nodded. “That is correct, we wear such a key, and we came prepared to share it with the rest of humanity.”
“Wear the key?”
“Yes, each of us does. It is embedded in some sort of quantum matrix, which every Krall bears. We have some of the tools that can embed the key in anyone that is willing to wear the stigma of a Krall tattoo.”
“You have got to be shitting me!” He looked sharply at Kally, when she snickered.
“I’ll make this a lot less amusing young woman, if you wish. I’ll not grant you the honorific of Lady until I think it’s deserved. What is your name?”
“Kally Murchifem, Sir. I have a Krall tattoo that allows me to use their equipment. It marks me as what they once termed a ‘worthy enemy’ to one of us. I wear it proudly.” Her cool confident voice clearly had caught Longstreet off guard. Neither she nor any of the young captives appeared particularly afraid or cowed.
“This is the same kind of mark at the throat that all of the Krall wear? I see you all have them covered if you wear them. You aren’t quite as proud as you claim, are you?”
Kally answered for herself. “We were ordered to cover them until we had a chance to explain their purpose. However, I don’t think you have ever seen any like the one we wear. May I show you? All I need do is open the top button of my tunic to show the base of my neck, using one hand.”
Longstreet leveled his rifle at her and said, “Slowly, one hand only, keep the other hand behind your head.”
She slowly and smoothly used her left hand to release the button, and folded both sides of the tunic away, revealing the black oval. “Do you want me to turn around to show every one, Sir?”
“Go ahead, slowly.”
She made a graceful slow pirouette on her right foot, both hands back behind her head now. She stepped down from the rotation precisely where she had started.
Shifting his rifle to cover Greeves and Reynolds, Longstreet ordered them to open their shirt tops one handed. The captain merely stepped forward a few yards to see their tattoos.
“You claim that is the key. I know for a fact we have cut those from dead Krall and they did not allow anyone to activate Krall devices.”
Thad gave him the only answer he had. “We don’t know how they work. It’s based on technology that even the Krall don’t understand. They received it from an ancient race that tried to help them become civilized. They killed the Olt’kitapi for their attempt to help them. That same species designed their clanships, and probably designed the weapons and tools the Krall use. We have some of the ancient tools they call Katushas, made by that advanced race, which can apply the tattoos. Once you have the tattoo, it allows humans to use Krall weapons and equipment. We have reason to believe it uses some quantum property, and when the wearer dies, the key becomes useless in less than an hour.”
Longstreet reached down with a pointed tool he pulled from a breast pocket, and pressed the recessed talon release point on the power pack of the Krall rifle he held. Retaining the power pack, he motioned one of his men over to take the rifle. “Kally, please step out of the group and stop in front of me.”
She walked in that oddly easy glide that he’d noticed all of the younger people seemed to use. Graceful, with a strange impression of strength conveyed as they moved, almost cat like.
She halted three feet in front of him, ignoring the several rifles that had tracked her movement.
“Kally, these power packs can be activated by a Krall, even without being attached to a rifle, to check their level of charge. Show me how to do that please.” He offered her the pack.
She accepted the device, and then he noticed for the first time that she wore a thimble-like cap on one finger, with a short bluntly pointed tip to act as a talon. She smoothly depressed the recessed power activation button, and the charge indicator lights brightened to show it had a full charge, then the lights dimmed, as was usual. She looked up at him, and handed the power pack back to him, with an invitation. “If you hold the pack and my hand, you can also do that using your pointed talon substitute. If you let go of my hand, the pack will only stay activated for ten or twelve seconds.”
“Just like it works when we have a freshly dead warrior,” he replied. “No thanks, I don’t need a demonstration, I’ve done it before for real. Please step back a few feet, but don’t return to your previous spot.”
He appeared to want her covered within the group, but perhaps might have more questions for someone he considered the most helpless member of the twenty-two of them. Thad suppressed a smile at that, knowing he and Sarge were the weak links of this group.
He looked at Greeves. “Where is one of the tattoo applying tools you described? You called it a Katusha?”
“We have a number of them, but I didn’t bring any with us because they are irreplaceable without capturing another clanship, or killing a Krall that carries one. We intended to use those as trade goods to negotiate for supplies and for the training of our TGs to fight the Krall. We also have some single ships that work, if you have a tattoo, and when we take the other clanship, you are welcome to that, min
us any small weapons we need ourselves.”
“You are not in a position to negotiate. Besides, how many years do you think it would take to teach your mostly teenagers here to fight a Krall?”
“Captain, I happen to know that you are very seriously underestimating what these youngsters can do. Any one of them is already more than a match for any two unarmed Krall you have ever seen. I dare say, unarmed, none of your men present here, all twenty or thirty of them I presume, could beat any three of these kids, and probably not the two girls alone.”
There were snickers from some of the spec ops, which Longstreet glared down individually. He didn’t like how the interrogation kept slipping away from the direction Colonel Trakenburg had preset. These people were not what he’d been expecting. He had never seen well-treated Krall captives, ever, not even the wrecks that had become collaborators for better treatment. These people were far too confident, and almost made sense.
“I don’t intend to have some kid pay for what your mouth promises, Greeves. How about you or Reynolds risk getting the crap kicked out of you by one of my men? That should tell me if you are full of shit or not.”
“Captain, I would try that, since I’m certainly stronger than any average man you have ever faced, but I don’t come close to their speed or strength, and even if I win, you would not be convinced it wasn’t a fluke. The same for the Sergeant, who is Second Generation, like I am.”
“What the hell do you keep going on about generations? Reynolds was on Poldark in the last year, and although he had a decent record, he was sure as hell no superman Krall killer.”
“I’m still not Captain,” Reynolds answered, “but I may come almost as close as your boys, even without the fancy black muscle suits you wear. If it will get things moving, I’ll risk a beating now to get you to test one of these youngsters. Frankly, you are exactly the trainers I hoped would teach them what they need, to go raiding into Krall Space.”
Longstreet made a face. “I see the suit talk has spread even to the masses. That was top secret two years ago.”
“It probably still is pretty secret on our side. We picked up one of your half dead casualties coming back from an ambush, and he had a bad plasma burn to his ribs. Damned near broke one of my team member’s leg when he went through a spasm. The suit obviously magnified his strength. He didn’t make it to a field hospital. Mumbled about running out of juice. It’s common knowledge you spec ops use drugs of some sort. I assumed that was what he meant. We never wrote it up so we wouldn’t have to tell anyone about it later.
“Rather than getting my ass kicked, how about I arm wrestle one of you, using my left arm which was regrown, against the left arm of one of your guys in a suit. I’ll probably lose, but it may prove a point.”
“Maverick, over here. Reynolds, step out of the group.” He pointed to a spot on the floor.
A burly man, shorter than Reynolds, but with massive shoulders and arms came over.
“Mav, hand me your weapon, just pull off the armored glove. When Reynolds is down flat, with me covering him, get down and face off, left arm against left.” He looked at the other captives, and then his other men. “Men, don’t watch the match, watch them.” He jabbed a finger at the captives.
The two men laid flat on the floor. It wasn’t the best way to arm wrestle, but neither man gained or gave up any advantage.
“Grip hands but don’t start until I say so.” He watched the two adjust their hands and grip, and spread their legs to increase their leverage advantage on the smooth floor.
“Ready?” Both men nodded as their grips tightened. “Go!”
The trooper he had called Maverick clearly went for the quick kill, and grunted as Reynolds’ arm started to yield and swing backwards. Then Sarge’s handgrip noticeably tightened and there was a cracking sound and Maverick’s face drew pinched. The two forearms swung back more vertical as the spec ops man lost his initial advantage. He tightened his jaw and shifted his right shoulder, and gradually started to force Reynolds arm back again. However, it was clear from the flushed face that Maverick was straining and looked to be in pain. Reynolds was under exertion, but it didn’t seem to be taking the same toll on him as for the other man, even as he gave ground. After almost two minutes, the eventual decision would clearly go to Maverick, as Reynolds, still not as red faced was slowly being forced down.
Showing only mild strain in his voice, Reynolds made an offer. “Maverick, I’m willing to yield if you are willing to let this end. I’m getting tired and we both know you’ll win shortly. I’ll get muscle fatigue but your suit will not.”
With a grunt, and a nod of agreement, the two men eased up and pulled their hands apart. The hands came apart seemingly with some reluctance, as if they couldn’t quite make them let go of their grip. Finally, their hands apart, Reynolds was rubbing his hand and arm to restore feeling as he pulled his legs around to sit cross-legged, facing his opponent.
“That was one hell of an effort Maverick. I could never have continued with a broken finger. You had me for sure despite that.”
The other man’s face had lost its redness, and he was gingerly rubbing his left hand. He actually grinned. “You cracked my little finger. Without the suit and painkillers, you would have had me. How in the hell did you develop a grip and arm like that? We need to develop a black glove to go with the suits if I ever have to arm wrestle anyone like you again.”
“Mav, are you saying he about matched your arm, even with your suit to help? He supposedly regrew that arm after his armor was blown open. It should be weaker.” Longstreet seemed impressed.
“Captain, without the suit and the drugs, I was beat from the start. I don’t know what a Second Generation is or what it even means, but we want what they have in our program if he’s typical.”
“Well, I obviously had some secret help too.” Reynolds told them cryptically. “However, I’m not at liberty to talk about it yet. Colonel Greeves here has beaten me at this game before, using tables and chairs instead of that awkward floor position. I’m sure what we have to offer will come up soon in discussions. I might add, that had I been matched up against little Kally there, and she put in the maximum effort she could, I might well be having my left arm regrown again.”
Maverick and Longstreet both looked at the smallish-sized young girl skeptically.
Still without turning around, Thad renewed his offer. “Match Kally against any two of your men, although I won’t order her to allow herself to be injured if they start to get rough. I promise you that she could take them hand to hand, and using any hand weapon, even if she had never used it before. For your safety, I’d suggest hand to hand.
“This is not bragging, and some of our TGs have killed Krall in gunfights, beat them in knife fights, and dominated them in unarmed combat. However, they aren’t invincible. We have two reported dead out in those valleys towards that clanship. If you simply use fine radar mapping, you should see our people attacking that clanship. We stole their eight Dragons and sixteen plasma cannon carts after they unloaded them and parked them unguarded, confident that humans couldn’t use them. We also have four of their heavy armored transports. We are going to take that clanship because they will never leave us alone after they learn it is humans operating our ship. Its nickname is the Mark by the way, after the tattoo marks we wear, which allows us to operate the ship.”
They had agreed to leave off the word Koban, so that name could not lead back home if the Krall heard it used.
Longstreet made a decision. “This is all being recorded, and if I don’t prove to the watchers what you claim you can do, this will be a tough sell to convince them that you are actually fighting the Krall. I’m halfway there, but please ask one of your young men to do the honors. I can’t risk the allegation that my men held back because they were fighting a teenaged girl.
“Greeves, to make this simpler, the right side wall has no doors or tunnels, so I want you to lead your people over there and sit with your backs to the wa
ll. I’ll post twenty armed men to watch you. If your youngsters prove as capable as you claim, I don’t know if I have enough people to guard you. I’d never try to hold twenty-two unarmed Krall with only thirty men.”
“Captain, we are not out to kill or hurt the people we need help from, to save ourselves from the Krall. We might beat ten times our weight in warriors, but not their entire species. We are too few.”
“Tell me about it.” The spec ops man said in sympathy.
Quickly, Longstreet pointed to two of his men, telling them to discard their weapons and scaled armor. They stood like black demons with rippled and bulging muscles, the exomuscle body sheaths coating them like a layer of ebony, from boots to neck. One man was about six feet two and had a powerful looking build. The other man was about six feet, leaner and faster looking. It was a smart choice, selecting men that represented two different type opponents, and probably different fighting styles.
Thad had two preferred choices from his group all along, both were TG1s, and Longstreet had ruled out Kally. It wasn’t that Thad lacked any confidence in Warren Brock, his other TG1, but little Kally would make for such a great contrast when she won. Warren was five feet ten inches, and looked like he weighed one hundred seventy pounds. That was deceptive, because the denser muscles and bones of their genetic enhancements added about twenty-five pounds of weight to his apparent build.
Warren removed his shoes and two calf knife sheaths. Longstreet had not said anything, but Thad had seen him look at them. He was likely waiting to see if Thad would make him remove them. It wasn’t necessary, and Warren knew he didn’t need them, even if the spec ops men had kept theirs. Warren wasn’t the best of the group at unarmed combat, but he’d had the Taps from those that were. His additional invisible advantage was his TG1 Mind Tap ability, if he found a chance to sense his opponents.
Koban: Rise of the Kobani Page 14