by Chris Hechtl
“Good answer. Yes, that's the origin. Sometimes you can't beat a classic.”
“If you say so, ma'am.”
:::{)(}:::
Mason was surprised when he was escorted upstairs after Mike left. His eyes widened in surprise as he tried to orient on the path only to discover the basic industrial stone and steel led to a proper home on the ground level. He went through a series of locks and then into a foyer. He was greeted by carpet, tapestries, sun-filled windows, wood paneling, and furniture. The furniture seemed old fashioned but quite serviceable after the damn foam pad in the basement.
“Alan will show you to your quarters, Lieutenant,” the guard said and then withdrew. A small man came around the corner within a moment and bobbed a nod.
“You're Alan?” the prince asked.
“Yes, your majesty. Alan Carter.”
“I don't need a life history. Where are we going?” he asked.
“I'm afraid it is two floors up. Most of the ground floor is public living space. Kitchen, foyer, bar, den, gym, billiard room, library, sun room, bathrooms, theater, what have you. Do you wish to freshen up your majesty or eat or …?”
“Just show me to where I'm supposed to bunk,” the prince said testily. Obviously, this Alan knew who he was. “So, you are a guard?” he asked, sizing the small man up. He was in civilian dress. It took him a moment to realize it was Horathian civilian clothing.
“Oh, no, sire. I am from Garth. I never did get to the homeworld.”
“Oh, so you are a prisoner too?” the prince asked as they walked through the foyer to the grand stairs. He noted a couple other people talking. That was interesting. They were in uniform.
“Yes, sire.”
“Huh,” Mason replied, uncommitted to that. He could be seeing actors, agents, whatever. He wasn't certain what to think. He noted all of the personnel were officers. They were a mix of branches however. None were above the rank of commander. “What is this place? How big is it?”
“It's big. We've explored most of it, including the attic. It’s six floors. The second and third floors are occupied by well, guests. They let us roam wherever we want,” the little man said as they went up the carpeted steps. Mason realized they were getting looks but did his best to ignore them for the moment.
“Your room, sire,” the little man said. “I was a steward, ship's steward,” he said as he opened the ornate double doors. They too were wood and three meters tall.
Mason went inside and looked around. There was a massive bed and furniture. It wasn't quite on the same level as the palace but a lot better than the prison he'd expected. “What game are they playing?” he asked, turning to the little man.
“We don't know, sir. They gave us civilian clothing for you,” he indicated the dresser. “If you wish to have your uniform returned, I can request it. I dusted the room and cleaned the en suite bathroom only yesterday. Do you want a specific soap or shampoo? I can ask.”
“No,” the prince said, curious and off guard as he peeked into the open door to the bathroom. It was white marble and quite good size. There was even a claw foot tub and a standing shower big enough for three people. There was a nice rain head on top. He liked it. “This is almost as good as what I had at home. Almost.”
“Apparently, they bought the place with the intent of having it as a retreat, but when they started to get POWs in, they needed to stick us somewhere,” Alan said from the doorway.
He turned and went out. “So, officers …?” he frowned as he tried to consider how to ask what he had in mind.
“Officers. No enlisted except stewards. They are housed elsewhere. We are all Horathians. This is what they consider minimal security. As long as we don't cause any trouble, we'll live in this. If we cause problems, we get a tiny cell like the one you just left,” Alan said with a shudder. “One a lot smaller and dark as a tome.”
“Pass,” Mason said immediately. He frowned. “I'll freshen up.” He turned to look outside to see a tennis court. There were players out there. Beyond the fence surrounding the court, there was a pool. There was also a series of hot tubs and an outdoor recreational area with umbrellas. He could see a small group doing calisthenics and another off jogging on what he presumed was a path around the building or island. “This is like a day spa,” he said.
“It is in a way. I don't think they know what to do with us. There are massages, yoga classes, boxing, and wrestling, whatever we can think of to pass the time. The bar is stocked but it is low grade material. The food is good. We can make our own from raw ingredients. The chefs are good.”
“One thing I should warn you about is that they will prosecute you if they know of a war crime or if someone performs a criminal act here. We've had, let's just say, a few disputes on sexual activities. They set up a tribunal and made a few examples. Everyone is now on their best behavior.”
Mason nodded slowly. He wasn't certain he wanted to find out what the steward meant by an example. If it meant being locked in that cell again and forgotten … “I see. Well, I guess this isn't the durance vile I was expecting, but it’s fine with me. Do I need to be anywhere?”
“I doubt it. They like to do a few interviews with people when they first arrive. They then take their time cross-referencing whatever we tell them. It could be days before they get around to you again, sire.”
“Ah. Well, I don't know that much. I was, I mean, I am a Marine lieutenant,” Mason said with a shrug. “I'll take a shower. If I need you, how do I call?”
Alan pointed to a VID screen in front of the bed and then another smaller one near the door. “They recently rewired the house, sire. You can watch shows with that. There is a remote,” he said, indicating a device on the end table next to the bed. “Most of the material is culled from Horathian broadcasts. The sports are old but it's something. If you need me, you can tap this and it will bring a menu up. Tap the summons button and it will call me or whoever is on duty.”
“Very well. Dismissed then,” Mason said with a wave of his hand as he turned greedy eyes on the shower. He felt all itchy from being in the damn cellar.
He heard Alan click his heals and then close the door. He found a massive towel nearby and grinned as he kicked his slippers off and started to strip.
:::{)(}:::
“…And cue the bump and grind music. This part I don't need to see,” Commander Lake said dryly as she turned away. “It looks like he's settling in nicely though.”
“Yes, sir. Alan certainly played his part well. I don't think he's suicidal.”
“That he did. Alan did well.”
“Think he'll graduate soon, ma'am?” Leia asked absently. “Move on to another dangerous assignment?”
“He might. The problem is we need him here.” She shook her head. They didn't really need an agent on the grounds, but it was the perfect opportunity to train and insert operatives and to allow them to practice while under scrutiny. Alan was by far one of their best. He had absorbed the data they'd gotten on Garth as well as his character profile and added to it. His implants kept him up-to-date on information to keep the prisoners from tripping him up with a question or with false information.
The Latimer house concept was going well. It and the two others like it were giving them plenty of information. She was certain that once the prince settled in he'd start talking and exchanging stories with the others. They wouldn't even need to prompt him; they tended to take it as a competition. Good food and alcohol and comfort tended to do that.
It took a lot of patience and an eye to the long game to let things play out as they were doing. They had to let the process work, let the enemy lower their guard and loosen their tongues. Pressure from above for results might break the system, something that she wanted to avoid.
That didn't mean she wasn't above slipping something in at the bar or in the carefully handled videos the prisoners saw to prime the pump with some conversations from time to time.
A few of the prisoners were wary and security consci
ous. They tried to block out their conversations with running water and or conversations around them, sometimes even using the television programs or taking walks. It was all for naught of course. There were hidden bugs and cameras everywhere, but they were hardly needed. Each of the prisoners had implants. They themselves were walking microphones and video cameras. Processing it all took a great deal of processing power. The transcripts had an entire data farm. Fletcher and the other intelligence A.I. had their hands full processing it all.
“I wish we had the computing power to do this in VR. It would be simpler and safer. But, we don't.”
“There are too many ways for it to go wrong, ma'am,” the tech said as she rose and poured a cup of coffee from the urn on the hot plate in the corner of the room. She brandished it to the commander but the commander demurred with a hand wave.
“I know. But, it just seemed better. I'd love to upgrade or tear them apart in a mind strip. But, we know it's too much to process and some information is lost.”
“So, we fall back on the old-fashioned methods, ma'am,” the tech replied with a nod as she finished up with her coffee cup and then cradled it as she took her seat. She took a sip and then set it down to check her readings. “There is a reason we follow the KISS principle, ma'am. If it works, don't fix it.”
“Right,” the commander drawled. “It's just time consuming and resource intensive. And some people hate the idea of coddling prisoners.”
“I know, ma'am. They'll never understand our methods. I'm just glad we're doing it this way. I don't think I'd have the stomach to monitor a physical interrogation. It is bad enough hearing them talk about some of the nasty shit they've pulled. We're passing it all over to legal for the war crimes unit, but still,” she replied with a shudder.
“I feel you,” the other woman said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Well, since he's not dropping any Earth-shattering tidbits just yet, and he's not suicidal, I'll go back to my own duties.”
“Yes, ma'am. I'll let you know if anything changes.”
“Good woman. I know Commodore Montgomery is also keen about results from this subject.”
“Nothing like pressure from the top to perform. But I'll make sure Alan doesn't get too ambitious and blow his cover, ma'am.”
“Good,” the commander replied with a nod as she headed to the door.
Chapter 36
B101a1
Federation 1 arrived in the B101a1 star system without incident. Admiral Irons noted the star system's contents as Protector brought up a plot echo from the bridge. He noted the harbor station. It was still under construction but progress was moving along nicely.
“I didn't expect to be here again,” he murmured.
“It has changed I understand. The picket for instance,” Protector pointed out.
Admiral Irons grunted. There was a light picket at the B-100 omega jump point but a much larger one at the B-103c5 jump point. They still didn't know what was in the jump line between Kathy's World and B101a1. Ships, especially slow ships like Pelican, could still be in transit in the low octaves of alpha band, so they had to take precautions. He was well aware of Phil's agitation to take down the B-100 omega picket and transfer them to B101a1. He was tempted but had held off.
Besides, B-100 omega also had an ansible. Moving the thing was fraught with difficulties. He'd have to send a transport in, have them take it apart, and then relocate it. At the moment, there were no transports available, and he wasn't going to leave an ansible platform unguarded.
They had made damn good time, taking a little more than forty-three days to go from Antigua to B101a1. According to the report from Phil, the three ships they were expecting to meet had left with orders to travel at their best speed. That meant the high octaves of Gamma band. He could expect them within the next two days.
In the meantime, he had orders to upload and fresh data to pick up from the ansible. Since they were going to be in the star system for an unknown length of time, he ordered the ship to use all of its comm channels to download the data.
While he did that, he settled in and began to process the files as they came in.
:::{)(}:::
“So, now we what, we wait? We're not even going to the station?” Martha asked, indicating the growing space station in the inner star system. It was a module design, not quite as colorful as the harbor station on the other end of the rapids was reputed to be.
“Thank the gods of space. We all could use a break. Getting some downtime after that …”
“Enjoy it while you can,” the captain replied.
“Ma'am?”
“I'm stuck here. You lot are going to head into there,” she said, pointing to the rapids. Coral followed the Neochimp's finger and then nodded as she returned her attention to the captain. “I take it you figured it out ahead of time? Or did you get orders?”
“We figured it out, ma'am,” the Selkie replied with a shrug. “It was sort of obvious.”
“Point. Okay, well, I can rotate other crew members through the helm. They need the practice anyway. So, each of you are off until the admiral says otherwise. Enjoy the vacation while it lasts,” the captain said wryly.
“Aye aye, ma'am,” the Selkie said and then yawned.
“Go on, get out of here,” the captain said with a mock growled.
“You don't have to tell me twice,” Martha said, taking the lead. “First one to our quarters gets the tank!”
“Um, it's going to be crowded with Jamie and Rish,” Coral called out in warning. Captain Pong shook her head as she smiled briefly before she indicated the comm tech take the helm station next to the grav tube. The comm tech's eyes were wide, and she licked her lips nervously as she took the helm and experimentally wiggled the manual yoke.
“Yeah, this is going to be interesting,” the captain murmured under her breath.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral Irons noted the report from TF3.2 and nodded. He didn't appreciate the nagging tone in the rear admiral's emails; he could tell just from the wording she was pissed at being delayed. Too bad. They didn't have the reinforcements in the pipeline to support her push. Besides, he didn't have the intel on what was in Dead Drop and Garth either. He wasn't certain which way she should go, and he wanted her to coordinate her movements with Amadeus.
He was grateful to read the report that they'd managed to kill a light cruiser. He was a little concerned about the courier that was reportedly running for its wretched life. No doubt it would need to stop and refuel somewhere, most likely well after the crew changed their underpants he thought with a slight twist of his lips, but that still wasn't good enough. The admiral's request to run the ship down … he shook his head. Any ship that went after them to New Horizon would be jumping blind into enemy territory. No. They'd take their lumps.
He wrote out his orders and then saved them for transmission, then moved on to the next series of reports.
:::{)(}:::
Twelve and a half hours after they arrived there was an unannounced arrival at the jump point behind them. Admiral Irons and most of the personnel who knew what was coming expected to see the three ships, but they were disappointed when CIC reported that it was a single ship.
Admiral Irons was initially irritated, at least until Protector pointed out the ship's IFF. He blinked in surprise and then had the A.I. section off a portion of the tachyon emitter to make contact with the ship.
“Admiral Irons?” a familiar voice said as the channel opened.
“It's good to see you, old friend,” Admiral Irons said with a brief smile. “Come to see us off I take it?”
“Something like that,” the A.I. replied. “To be honest, I wish I was coming too, sir.”
“Unfortunately, we don't have enough helm teams to man your ship as well. Not without leaving one of the other ships short,” Admiral Irons replied with a shake of his head.
“Understood.”
“Not many people say that they wish they were coming along when it comes to th
e rapids, Captain. Thank you for the thought though, I appreciate it.”
“Yes, sir. We'll keep the home fires burning as the expression says.”
“Picking expressions up, Captain?” Protector interjected.
“I have an … interesting crew,” the A.I. replied dryly.
Admiral Irons chuckled as he signed off.
:::{)(}:::
Fifteen hours after their arrival, barely two hours after Firefly cleared the jump zone, three ships arrived in formation. Admiral Irons signaled for the three ships to meet them at the jump point into the rapids. He had Protector set up a rendezvous point.
Admiral Irons met with the helm team once he'd issued a series of orders. Petty Officer Rish came to attention with the others. He waved them back to relaxing. “Sir, we saw the ships. It is good to see them; we were a bit worried about taking this small ship into the rapids, sir,” Rish said.
“Well, you aren't. You lot are coming with me. You've got a day or so to get some downtime as we make our way to the rapids. Try to relax while you can. I understand the rapids are … taxing.”
Coral nodded. “Yes, sir. I've heard a few of the stories.”
“Are you certain you are up for the challenge?” he asked, studying the female Selkie carefully. Her vital signs were stable. A good night's sleep tended to do that, though he was aware the compartment was rather crowded. It was one reason he had the hatch open behind him and he stood near it.
“I think so. We'll know shortly though, sir. But if we have to, I won't hesitate to lower our speed if the safety of the ship is at stake. I don't care how urgent the situation is. If we die trying to get there, we're no good to anyone,” Coral warned.
“Point. Telling point,” Admiral Irons replied with a grudging nod. He stared into the Selkie's black eyes but the seal didn't flinch. Finally, he nodded again. “Thanks.”