by P. C. Haring
Amado sat forward in his seat, allowing his elbows to rest on the table in front of him. Rashar wanted to get right down to business. But if this was supposed to be an inquiry regarding her attack against a Remali target, she was taking an odd track by referencing the Ralgon War.
“Instead,” she continued, “I wish to know what it was that you did during the time the Ralgon, as you call them, held control of your world.”
Melrose eyes narrowed. “I did what everyone on my world did, General. I fought to stay alive and survive.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. Anyone in your circumstances would. But, forgive me—” She paused. “This method of inquiry is still new to me. I suppose I should rephrase and ask, how did you chose to fight for your survival? Did you hide from them? Did you collaborate with them for preferential treatment? Did you take up arms against them?”
Anger flashed across Melor’s face at the mention of collaboration but as Rashar pressed on, Melor seemed to push it down.
“I fought them General. I was a soldier in the Verasai resistance.”
“Yes. Yes, you did. Do you recall how many battles you fought?”
Melor shook her head.
“Do you recall an incident that occurred on August 27, 2820 according to your standard calendar?”
Melor sat back in her chair. “General, that was twelve years and another lifetime ago. I’m sorry to say that I can’t remember exactly what happened that day.”
Rashar nodded. “I thought that might be your response. Perhaps this,” she pulled a handheld from a pocket in her uniform, “will help you to remember.”
She handed Melor the device and waited as she activated it and skimmed through the data.
“Oh... oh my...”
“Do you remember it now, Lieutenant?”
Melor looked up, meeting Rashar’s eyes before looking to Aler and then to Amado. When his eyes locked with hers, he saw something she had never shown him before, not even when the ship was under attack. She showed him fear. But there was more behind it and the longer they stared at each other, the more Amado’s own fear swelled. He had made a major error in judgment by allowing this to proceed. He should shut it down, stop it now before it went any further and got out of hand. Melor knew something, something she had long since forgotten, and now that skeleton was coming out of the closet.
“Lieutenant,” Rashar repeated. “I asked you if you remembered that day now that I have shown you the record. Do you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her voice was soft and detached.
“Tell us about your involvement that day, please.”
August 27, 2820
1,623rd Day of Ralgon Occupation
03:00
Verasai Resistance Bunker
THEY WERE FIGHTING AGAIN. As if the damn Ralgon were not bad enough, the cell leaders stood over their makeshift table poring over targets and strategies, bickering amongst each other. They were incessant. Every day and every night, they stood over the same damn table arguing the same damn arguments about the same damn issues, while accomplishing not a damn thing. All they did was waste time.
It made Vivine Melor all the more appreciative of her unending task to strip, clean, and re-assemble every rifle they had. She pulled the next weapon off the rack and set to work. It came apart with ease and she was pleasantly surprised to see it didn't need a lot of work. The cell leaders continued their bickering, their voices growing louder with each exchange. For a moment, she considered putting a headset on and listening to something else. But with their volume, it became a little easier to hear what they were going on about. Apparently, they wanted to hit one of the orbital dock yards where a Ralgon convoy was loading up to depart later in the day.
Even at her young age, Melor was no stranger to the situation Verasai cargo ships controlled by the Ralgon or their collaborators docked at regular intervals to collect supplies—including Verasai slaves—and move them elsewhere in the galaxy. No captives ever returned, so the Resistance could only speculate as to what the Verasai were used for. Most assumed as laborers, but some rumors suggested they were, in fact, a food source for the Ralgon. The prospect of either did not sit well with her, nor did it sit well with the officers. No one expected this attack would end the exporting of the Verasai, but at the very least it might slow the Ralgon down enough to allow the other cells to consider similar actions of their own.
The dock needed to be destroyed, no one questioned that. But the method and commitment of resources seemed to be at the height of everyone's concern. She had not been invited to the meeting, but with the way everyone was yelling at each other, it was impossible not to hear them.
“It’s simple,” the one she knew as Curnan said. “We arm everyone and we assault the dock. We get people up there to offload the prisoners and we bring them down to the surface.”
“Don’t be a damned fool,” another responded. “A direct attack would cause far too much collateral damage. The Ralgon are vicious! No. We have to hit the dock with a fleet.”
“You do that, Revenel, and you’ll guarantee the deaths of the prisoners.”
And so, the argument circled around and around and around again with no end in sight.
After another hour, Melor had had enough. After racking the weapon, she had been working on, she threw her towel to the ground in disgust and stormed into the war room. The idea had hit her a little while ago and although she had been hesitant to interject herself into this mess, they needed a fresh perspective. But her idea rested on an assumption that required verification first. The officers either did not notice her, or did not care to reprimand her for being in here, and she took their ignoring her as a sign to continue.
With the help of one of the technicians, she accessed the mainframe and pulled up the specifications she needed.
Yes. She had been right. It could be done. The maintenance schedule was off, but that could be easily fixed with the right skill and know-how. All that remained was to convince the idiots at the table. But they ignored her, choosing their own fight over her. If only they would just...
“Shut up!”
Her interjection drew the attention of a few at the table, her mother included, and for the first time, Melor wondered if she had overstepped her bounds.
“Vivine,” her mother scolded. “I thought I told you to service the weapons.”
“There's a better way to do this,” she responded. “Much simpler, and much cleaner, if any of you would care to listen.”
August 27, 2820
1,163rd Day of Ralgon Occupation
15:00
Sky Lift Car 01
THE URGE TO fidget fought for dominance once again while Vivine sat and waited for the sky lift to finish its ascent to the orbital station tethered to the surface. Her shoulder ached from the tattoo process. With this being her first field operation, her comrades in arms decided she had needed a proper induction into the ranks of the Guerrillas. She might have refused, might have declined to join the team. But the plan of attack was hers, and she couldn’t back out. Not now.
Her stomach turned and she fought not to retch. She knew the plan would work. The engineering and chemical equations told her it would work. But getting into position to do what the science said would work, that was the challenge. Suggesting they go in unarmed almost got her shouted out of the planning room. But she stood by her proposal, defended it, and they had seen it her way.
The lift slowed to a halt and the magnetic locks engaged, securing the lift in place. Adopting their borrowed roles as slave workers, the Guerrillas gathered what little they had with them and disembarked. Although the slave labor was not permitted any personal belongings beyond their clothes, necessary tools to do their work, and a flask of water, they all were required to submit to inspection by the Masters. Following their instructions, the Guerrillas lined up for the procedure. She fought to hold herself in check. The twelve guerrillas had been paired off, one for each transport they were to target and within each pair, eac
h had been given one half of a binary liquid explosive to lace the water in their canteen. Although completely inert and safe on their own, when the two halves were combined, the results would be devastating. If any of them got caught, if any of the inspections revealed the true contents of the flask, this mission was over before it began. Even so, when it came to her turn, Melor played the part of a broken-willed slave, and stepped forward.
Time around her ground to a halt as the Verasai Master looked her over and as he turned his attention to her canteen, she allowed herself the audacity of looking at him. Like every other collaborating Verasai, this one wore a full suit of armor and a mask over their face, obscuring their identity. It had been said this was to prevent any reprisals, but in truth it just made them look like thugs. Still she held her place for a moment. Through the eye holes of the helmet, the Verasai within looked distant, faded, almost as though he were a withering echo of what a Verasai should be. The look in his eyes seemed distant despite the fact the flask he was inspecting was in his hand. Had he not been a collaborator, Vivine might have pitied him.
The back of the collaborator’s hand struck hard against her jaw and as she reeled away from the blow, she knew she had dared too much. The first rule taught to every Verasai since the occupation had always been not to look the masters in the eye. To do anything but examine the deck risked harsh repercussion. But no further consequence came to her and as she slowly returned to a proper, subservient posture.
The guard cleared her through and she was made to wait with those who had passed the inspection while the others in her team went through theirs. As each was allowed to pass the tension fell as there were fewer chances of being caught. But at the same time the tension increased as the pressure built to remain calm and not panic and after an agonizing few minutes, the last of them was cleared and were ordered to begin the work. As a unit, they approached the local control station and logged themselves as starting the work session. The Masters kept meticulous records. The team’s technician pulled up the duty assignments and checked the manifests. Each of the transport ships were empty. They had made it in time.
As the twelve of them had practiced, they split off into six teams of two, and separated. Melor and her partner made their way down the corridor and over to the gantry. Containing only two airlocks, this section was the smallest they had planned to hit, the least used, and thus considered the easiest for someone new, like Melor, to hit. But as she and her partner turned to hit the docked ship, they stopped at different locks.
Intelligence had reported there would be only one ship docked here, not two. The first vessel matched to what the duo excepted to see, a standard Ralgon cargo hauler. It’s normally supple, near biological hull had been reinforced with armor plating, providing additional defense should the Alliance, such that it was, choose to attack it. The second one, on the other hand, was something much different.
Like the hauler, the hull on this new vessel looked to be very supple, almost biological. To the trained eye, the ship expanded and contracted ever slightly, as if mimicking the rising and falling of a humanoid chest. But whereas the skin of the hauler had been covered with scales and then reinforced with ballistic armor, the hull on this vessel appeared smooth, giving off a sheen and a glint of the lights around it, far more similar to the skin of a marine mammal. It was also at least three or four times larger than the hauler.
Vivine turned to her partner. He mouthed the words ‘which one’ to her in silence. She allowed herself a moment to think. This other ship looked newer, more advanced. If they could destroy that one, then perhaps they would deal a bigger setback. Vivine motioned over her shoulder and her partner nodded in agreement and they set to work.
October 18, 2832
10:45
Mjöllnir
“WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?”
General Rashar’s voice pulled Melor out her recollection, but from his seat at the front of the room, Cody Amado remained silent, his uneasiness growing with every word Melor said.
“We chose to attack the unknown ship. As I mentioned before, we had no idea what it was. We presumed it was a new class of Ralgon cargo hauler. Even if it weren’t, it had been permitted to dock at a Ralgon controlled facility without resistance, and we figured they were allies. Any friend of the Ralgon was an enemy to the Verasai. We tried to board, but found the ship sealed.” She paused to take a sip of her drink. “We couldn’t even get through the airlock.”
“So, you left and abandoned your objective, then?”
“We did not, General. We assumed the Ralgon had implemented a new security protocol on the advanced hauler. If anything, it only strengthened our resolve.”
“Please tell us how you completed your mission.”
“The plan of attack,” Melor resumed her narrative, “was to combine the binary explosive into the fuel lines. The explosion caused by the relatively low volume of our chemicals, would be amplified by the volatile fuel, and take the ship with it. We couldn’t get into the ship. But we knew that any ship docked would be set up to take on fuel from the station. That was our cover in the first place, fuel line technicians. Using that to our advantage, we went down to the service deck and found the fuel pump servicing the ship. We emptied one part of the binary into the fuel pump, waited a few seconds and then emptied the second component. We figured the explosive would mix in the tank.”
“Did it?” Rashar asked.
Melor seemed to shrink in her seat. “It never got the chance. As we were coming back down the orbital tether, the explosions in the other ships went off. Our section was the last to go, but when it did, it ignited the fuel line all the way back to the pump. That set off a chain reaction that took half of the station with it...” Her voice trailed off.
“We were so proud of ourselves,” Melor continued. “When we returned to our camp, we were greeted as heroes. We had intended to simply slow the output of slave labor, but instead we halted it completely. But we had no idea the collateral damage we had caused. Instead of trying to stabilize and rebuild the station, the Ralgon abandoned it and it fall from the sky. That hit with such a force...” Her voice faltered. “That station’s fall killed tens of thousands.”
Amado leaned forward to call for a brief recess so that Melor could re-compose herself. She had held up well in the retelling, but the look in her eyes told him she needed some time. This was wearing on her and he had to wonder if he had done the right thing by asking her to put herself out there like this.
But Rashar had other plans and before he could put things on hold, she dove into her next line of attack.
“Lieutenant,” she began, “this is surveillance of the attack, taken from an Alliance observation post on the edge of your planetary system.”
She activated the display and started the playback. They watched as the post’s sensors took its readings. Then, an explosion ripped through the station, followed by another, and another, until the entire structure was engulfed in fire. The playback stopped and rewound, stopping once again as a set of dates appeared on the screen.
“Lieutenant Melor,” Rashar continued, “can you tell me what the sensor platform is scanning at this moment?”
The engineer hesitated for a moment as she looked over the data. “It would appear to be scanning the prototype Ralgon freighter that we targeted.”
“And what of the data points?”
“They are standard identify friend/foe scanning protocols. The post is looking at the ship’s power profile, energy signatures, and transponder signal.”
Rashar nodded and Amado caught a knowing look as she shot a quick glance towards him. She had something to play here, something that meant she was far more familiar with their legal procedures than she had let on. Suddenly the room seemed too warm for his liking.
Rashar pressed another button on her panel. “And how do those readings compare with this?” Another display, this one of the Valor front and center, appeared. Data points appeared as well, surrounding the image of the
ship.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, “But where did this data come from?”
Rashar turned her attention to Amado. “These are the sensor returns taken by your own ship when we first intercepted you. I took the liberty of gathering them when you gave me access to your ship’s database. May I proceed?”
“You may,” he said, knowing this was going to get even worse and knowing he could do nothing without putting the strategy in jeopardy.
Rashar offered a nod of her head and turned back to Melor. “Lieutenant? How do these two sets of data compare to one another?”
Melor reached for the tablet in Rashar’s hand. As she ran her analysis, the displays changed as the data samples moved to re-align and lines of comparison connected to two data sets. When it was all completed, the two sets slid together, merging as one.
“According to this,” Melor reported, “there is a ninety percent correlation between the two samples.”
Her voice was devoid of energy.
“Ninety percent,” Rashar repeated. “Which, according to your standard Alliance procedures is enough to identify an unknown ship as belonging to the same design and construction principles as the known. Which is to say that two ships that are 90% matched like this can be safely assumed to belong to the same government, in this case the Remali Confederacy.”
Melor hung her head and Amado felt for her. But try as he might to offer her comfort, his position on this hearing prevented it, even if Rashar had chosen to stop.
“Captain Amado,” she said, turning to him. “Your officer has, multiple times, admitted her involvement in the destruction of the ship in question. I have further shown proof based on your government’s own pattern recognition protocols, that the ship your officer admits to destroying was a Remali vessel. My burden to prove my case to you has been met and as such, I demand that your officer be delivered to my custody immediately.”