by J.J. Mainor
Chapter 2-1
General Mizenov’s ship, the CS Rostov, grew larger in the view screen.
“Have they detected us,” Colonel Freedom called out.
“Negative,” Lieutenant Dorsey called back.
“Lieutenant Pittman, the moment we’re in range scramble their inhibitors. Then take their scramblers, every one.
Pittman responded back to his commander in the affirmative. Freedom sat against his chair back to wait for the excitement to begin. He cast a glance downward to his favorite UN inspector, Remy Duval, sitting on the floor beside him, chained by the neck to the chair. Freedom could see in his flushed cheeks he wanted to speak out some objection to the attack. Whether it was fear for what remained of his pathetic existence, or humiliation at being treated as a dog, Remy bit his lip to keep his opinion to himself.
“I have their inhibitors,” Pittman called out. With another swipe at the buttons on the console in front of him, he had snagged the Rostov’s scramblers.
“Sir,” Dorsey piped up, “Mizenov’s calling to surrender.”
“Ignore him.” Freedom looked again to his pet, certain that violation of UN rules of war would elicit a complaint. He smiled triumphantly when Remy again chose to keep his objections inside, though he definitely noticed the tension knotting his muscles. “Pittman, get our inhibitors online. Riggs, roll the ship so our missile tubes have a clear shot, and start circling her. Pittman, as soon as you can, fire everything. Start with their cargo pods, then target crew quarters. I want you to work your way up to their bridge so the General has plenty of time to sweat this out.”
“They’re firing missiles,” Pittman warned.
“Let them!” The ship rattled as the Rostov’s first volley struck their own outer cargo pods.
Lieutenant Dorsey turned again to his commander. “I’m sending Julius Caesar to your screen. Should I open a channel so you can quote to the General?”
“Julius Caesar is for you inexperienced Lieutenants. When you get to be a Colonel, you’ll appreciate Henry V.”
The first blast to register on the Rostov corresponded with the second strike on the Freedom.
“Have they hit anything critical?”
“Only more cargo,” Dorsey responded.
Freedom wasn’t too worried about the cargo. Sure the pods held the inhibitors which protected them from the scramblers and whatever energy weapons the General had at his disposal. Having taken out the scramblers, Freedom didn’t give a second thought to the energy weapons.
“Pittman, can you scramble their tubes full of iron?”
That brought an evil smile to the Armory Officer’s lips. He tapped a few buttons. The next time the Rostov tried to fire missiles, they detonated within the tubes. The Colonel watched on the screen as the blast fed back into their armory, creating secondary explosions tearing apart the lower two decks.
“The General wants to know why we remain silent,” Dorsey called to the Commander.
“I thought our weapons were doing the talking for us,” Freedom joked. He leaned forward on the edge of his chair once again. “Pittman, find their central computer and scramble it into our database. Once we have it, Dorsey, send the General’s transmission to my console.”
Pittman worked his controls then turned to give Dorsey a nod. The Communications Officer, in turn, pushed a few buttons of his own and General Mizenov’s image appeared on the small screen in the Colonel’s armrest.
“Why won’t you accept my surrender,” the General pleaded. “This is cruel, even for you, Colonel.”
“I’ve been tracking you for a month,” Freedom explained. “I know you incited that rebellion on our mining colony.”
“I swear I had nothing to do with that,” Mizenov shouted defensively.
“Don’t deny it. Their logs recorded you stopped for supplies and left not thirty-six hours before the miners seized control from the administrator. Their logs also recorded your previous stop was another Republic mining colony. And you just happened to attack us on our way to put down that rebellion.”
“But I had nothing to do with it.” The desperation on Mizenov’s face suggested sincerity in his denial. “You have my computer. Check our records. You won’t find any evidence of a plot, or any records of one because we had nothing to do with that incident.”
After a month of tracking down this ship for answers, Colonel Freedom considered the Confederation General was innocent. If there was a plan, it was far too obvious in its unfolding mere hours after a Confederation visit. Maybe it was nothing more than coincidence those miners became upset soon after, or maybe someone else set it up to frame the Confederation. They were close allies with the Eastern Imperium. Neither nation dared betray that alliance, yet it didn’t stop either from vying to be the dominate ally. It was conceivable the Imperium had an agent aboard the Rostov acting to crack the truce between the Confederation and the Republic.
Down on the floor, chained to the Commander’s chair, Remy already knew General Mizenov was innocent. Thanks to his betrayal toward his host, he knew more than the Colonel was able to cull from the colony’s records. Along with a treasure trove of data, those miners had let him in on the secret that the damning information indeed came from the Rostov.
Mizenov had paid for their supplies with some data chips, one of which was supposed to have contained recipes for the scramblers in the mess hall. Someone, however switched that data chip with one containing information that upset the miners and triggered their rebellion. But the person who made that switch was no longer aboard the Rostov. When he found the data chip containing the recipes had been switched for the information the miners had given him, Remy knew the man responsible had gotten aboard the Freedom.
Yet it was a detail he had been able to keep to himself. Part of him hoped he might track down this person himself and retrieve the missing data, while another part of him knew this knowledge was one last bargaining chip in his possession should his life depend on it. Still, there was the smug part of him remaining pent up in his brain that enjoyed watching the Colonel spin his heels on this fool’s errand.
“Pittman, stand down,” Freedom ordered.
“Should I take their cargo before we leave?”
“Leave them with something to survive on. It will take them days to cannibalize the scramblers from their doors and make repairs.” Freedom directed his attention to his Navigational Officer and ordered a new course. The nearest Imperium station would give him some insight, and the trip would give him time to extract the Confederation database and study their logs.
He unchained his pet from the chair and dragged the man off to his briefing room. It didn’t even matter if the UN inspector shared the information with him. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.