She knew the rest of her crew were being held here, but aside from the occasional glimpse, she'd had no contact with them since her capture. Every day, the door would rattle open, and an interrogator would come in with her breakfast, asking her the same questions and getting the same response. By now, she was sure the man knew her serial number by heart.
Outside, she could just make out the endless sea, the prison built on the edge of a cliff, a two hundred foot drop to the twisted rocks below. She'd made a single attempt to escape, right at the start, and the guards had let her get just far enough to convince her that there was no way out. The level beneath was a maze of tangled corridors, all of them rigged with security alarms, cameras covering the entire complex. It would take a full-scale assault to free the prisoners within, and a lone former hacker, without equipment, had no hope of escaping.
Out on the water, a light shone again, a sequence of winks that she guessed was an attempt at sending her a message, though it didn't make any sense to her. Still, even if she was grasping at tatters of hope, at least it was evidence that there was someone out there on her side.
It had to be long past midnight, but sleep refused to come, her body's act of silent rebellion at the monotonous routine that had been imposed upon her. A classic interrogation tactic, if nothing else, the idea that boredom might do what torture would not. Though in truth, she couldn't have answered most of their questions if she'd wanted to. She had no idea what Commodore Marshall was planning, had no knowledge of the current disposition of his ships.
There had been a single question, only asked once, months ago, that gave her more hope. The only time an unfamiliar interrogator had arrived, and he'd broken the usual script to ask her about Lieutenant Harper. She knew that Daedalus was still free and had managed to rescue some of her crew before the Xandari had captured it. With luck, she was on her way home, gathering allies for another strike.
Turning back to the window, she shook her head. She felt so helpless, unable to do anything to rescue the situation. Her decision had stranded her crew here, had cost them their ship, possibly the war, and though they'd done a lot of damage to the Xandari on their way down, she knew that it wasn't enough. Had the Copernicans not switched sides, all might have been different. When she'd first landed on this planet, she'd been an honored guest. Now she was a despised prisoner.
The door rattled open, and she glanced at it with a start. This was well off-script, hours before the interrogator was meant to arrive. Standing at the threshold was Captain Kalb, the commander of the prison, a grim look on his face. She looked up at him with a sneer, not bothering to conceal her contempt. When they'd first met, they'd fought side-by-side against the Xandari. Now he had joined them, betraying both her and his own people. And by the look on his face, he knew exactly what he had done.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. “I'd offer you a chair, but I don't seem to have one at hand.” At his silence, she continued, “While you're here, I'd like to make a complaint. The room service on this hotel is terrible, and I think you need to fire the chef.”
“I'm not here to play games,” he replied. “Tell me who he is.”
“I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about.”
“The traitor,” he said, shaking his head. “The Underground has an agent on my staff...”
“That's an interesting admission,” she interrupted, a smile creeping onto her face. “So there is a resistance network. Not everyone is happy with your Xandari friends.”
“And I know that he has made contact with you. If you don't tell me who he is, then...”
“What?” she asked, interrupting him again. “What are you going to do to me? Shoot me?”
“Yes,” he said, looking down at the floor. “Those are my orders, Captain.”
Her eyes widened, and she replied, “Then you've fallen far enough to shoot prisoners of war. I supposed I should be surprised that it has taken you this long.” Folding her arms, she said, “Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova. Serial number...”
“Don't you understand what comes next?” he shouted, wildly gesturing at the corridor. “There is a truck downstairs with two guards waiting for you. Their orders are to take you to the firing squad. If you don't tell me everything that you know, I'll have to turn you over to them.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “I'm not going to tell you a word, and you know it.”
A resigned frown on his face, he said, “You're going to die if you don't.”
“That's your decision, not mine.” Glaring at him, she added, “Don't try and pass this off on me. You know this is wrong, but you're just going to be a good little servant to your overlords, aren't you.”
Closing his eyes, he said, “One more time. Tell me who the traitor is.”
“Not even if I could.”
“Then you've left me with no choice.” Turning back to the corridor, he said, “Sergeant, take her down to the truck. Make sure she has no contact with anyone.” Glancing back at her, he continued, “If she decides to change her mind after all, bring her back up to my office.”
“Sir, that's…”
“Those are my orders,” he snapped. “Get on with it.” With one last look at Orlova, he stalked away down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back. The guard stepped forward, watching his superior walk away, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“Primitive,” she said, shaking her head, while the guard snapped them on her wrists.
“It'll do the job,” he replied. “Look, I know the Captain didn't have to make that offer. I was there. We were just told to take you down to the truck. That's all I know.” He paused, then added, “Tell them something. Tell them anything. Don't...”
“Make you do this?” she said. “You're making the choice, Sergeant. You could take me out of the building, help me free my crew, and put all of this right.”
His eyes widened, and he replied, “Do you think we'd get ten feet out the door before being blasted to pieces by machine gun fire? I've got a family.” With a sigh, he gestured down the corridor, and said, “Right to the end, then turn for the elevator. That'll take us down to the parking lot. The guards are waiting for us there.” He pulled a pistol out of his holster, a sad frown on his face, and said, “Move.”
Nodding, she walked ahead of the guard, down the corridor, glancing from left to right in the hope of seeing someone, anyone familiar. A forlorn hope; the doors were soundproofed, one-way mirrors to prevent them looking out. For all she knew, dozens of others had already made this long walk.
She glanced back at the cold, curt, implacable guard, following him to the elevator. He wouldn't meet her gaze, looking at the wall to avoid her eyes. At least they still had the shame to know what they were doing. Though that wasn't going to save her life. And that light had been a signal, to someone here, in the prison. She'd been right about that, though if the message had been meant for her, she'd let the sender down.
The elevator was waiting for them, and the guard gestured for her to step in, closing the doors behind them with the tap of a control. The mechanism burst into life, slowly dropping them through the levels, a final cell from which there was only one way out. Still the guard refused to meet her eyes, though she looked at him, watching his every move.
“Tell me something,” she said. “What's your name?”
“My name?”
“I'd like to know the name of the man taking me to my death.”
With a deep sigh, he replied, “Adolphe Duvall.” He shook his head, and said, “I have a wife, two little girls, living in the city. So I do what I must, to keep them alive for one more day.”
“As slaves, laboring for the Xandari.”
“While there is life, there is hope for a better tomorrow. I hold onto that, because there is nothing else left to hold on to.”
The elevator reached the bottom
, doors reluctantly sliding open to reveal two guards waiting on the other side, pistols at the ready, pointed at Orlova. Shaking her head with a smile, she walked past them, down the corridor, a cool wind on her face as she made her way to the waiting truck, her escort silently following.
She climbed into the back of the truck, her eyes widening as she saw the other occupant, General Kelot, the leader of the Free Peoples. Sad recognition showed in his face as he shuffled across, gesturing for her to sit next to him. The guards locked the door closed with a loud crack, and she settled onto the bench beneath them as the vehicle jerked into life, bouncing down the road.
“I didn't even know they'd captured you,” she said, shaking her head.
“Never made it to the starport,” he replied. “I was right in the middle of a meeting with some government officials when they drew pistols on me. Took me directly to the prison.” Turning to her, he added, “I thought I was the only one until this morning.”
Nodding, she said, “I haven't seen anyone else since I was captured. Just the guards and the interrogators, and I'm not sure those count as people.” The truck rocked over a deep rut, and she continued, “Kalb came for you as well?”
“Demanded I tell him about the traitor, some crap like that.”
“Same here.” She paused, and said, “For what it's worth, General, I'm sorry I brought you into this.”
“Part of the game, Captain,” he replied. “I knew what I was getting into, and I knew what I was risking, and none of that has changed. It was worth it. It still is.” With a smile, he continued, “I'm an old man, and if my life is the price I pay to protect my people, I'll pay it gladly. Just like you.” He paused, then added, “We'll win, you know. In the end. I don't have to live to see it. I know it. Tyrannies always fall in the end.”
“At least we know there's someone out there still fighting,” Orlova added. “And some of our fleet got clear of the system. Help could already be on the way.”
“With the redoubtable Harper and Salazar at liberty, I have no doubt of that.”
The truck thudded to a stop, and the hatch flew open, the guards ushering them out, this time with rifles in their hands. With a glance at Kelot, Orlova stepped out onto the ground, the mud sloshing over her shoes, her head held high. Sergeant Duvall followed, pistol in hand, still making sure to look at anything other than her.
“If you have any last words,” one of the guards said, “You might want to say them.”
Turning to face him, she said, “Let's get this over with.”
“Fair enough,” he said, turning to Duvall. “Sergeant?”
Duvall nodded, took a deep breath, and shot the guard in the back, the crack echoing across the field. The second executioner, startled, fell with a bullet in the neck, his body twisting into a confused mass as he fell, blood spurting out into the brown mud.
“I'm sorry,” Duvall said, looking down at the bodies. “I'm so damned sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled the keys from his pocket and walked over to a stunned Orlova, quickly freeing her from the restraints. “We've got to get out of here, right now.” He pointed up at the sky, a pair of lights dancing overhead, and said, “Every second, those bastards are watching.”
Kelot rubbed his wrists as the handcuffs dropped to the ground, and said, “Thank you, Sergeant. But before we go anywhere, why the change of heart?”
“What change of heart?” he said, a smile crossing his face. “This was the plan right from the start.” Moving to the truck, he continued, “We can discuss this on the move. You've got friends waiting for you, and we've got to get into town before anyone can catch us. There are other things happening tonight, but that won't hold up Security for long.”
With one last glance around, Orlova snatched one of the rifles from the corpse and followed Duvall into the truck, sliding in to sit next to him, Kelot by her side. Once more the engine jerked into life, the headlights casting a faint glow on the road ahead, turned down as low as the driver dared.
“We had to get you out of the prison,” he said. “The Xandari were talking about using drugs on you, some sort of truth serum. They've been experimenting with new narcotics.” At her expression, he added, “Not on your people. They're too valuable, apparently. On ours.”
“Bastards,” Kelot said.
“That's what kicked the Underground into high gear.” He glanced up at the lights in the sky, adding, “President Wulf's even more of a puppet than she thought, and there's damn all she can do about it. The worst part is how many of our own people have switched sides, are working with them willingly. Keeping your head down I can understand, but actually turning traitor is something else.”
He turned the truck down a side road, through a thicket of trees, curving towards the city on a bumpy track. Orlova checked the rifle, grimacing as she saw the depleted state of the clip. Four bullets wasn't much to start a revolution.
“What's the situation,” Kelot asked. “We're starving for news.”
“Lieutenant Cooper's forming some sort of rebel army out in the forest,” he replied. “No one's managed to get even close to him, but I know Security is trying to knock him out. Trouble is that he's stuck there. With these damned drones in operation, he wouldn't get a mile out of there without someone whistling down an airstrike on him.”
“And the others?” Orlova asked.
“Eighty-one of your people were taken prisoner, Captain, of which seventy-seven are alive today. The rest died in hospital.” He shook his head, and added, “The Xandari were rather reluctant to let us treat your wounded. It's a miracle the death toll wasn't higher.” Glancing across at her, he added, “I don't know much about what is happening in orbit, but I do know that there's a fleet getting formed up there. Lots of shipments of food, supplies, all sorts of equipment.”
Nodding, Kelot replied, “They've had three months to lick their wounds from the beating we gave them. Long enough to get their ships ready for action.”
“That's caused a lot of resentment down here as well,” Duvall added. “Factory capacity diverted to the Xandari, food shortages. No one's starving, but we aren't eating particularly well, either.” The road firmed up, buildings now on either side as they drove into the outskirts of the city. “Of course, what is actually going on out there is anyone's guess. We've got a few engineers working for us with the fleet, but they don't get to report very often.”
“And your Underground?” Orlova asked.
“You'll see for yourself in a few moments,” he replied, abruptly bringing the truck to a halt. “Head into the bar on the other side of the street. I'll be with you in a second.”
Nodding, she and Kelot jumped out of the cab, Duvall pausing to drop a small sphere onto the ground before following them. A ball of flame ripped into the sky as the grenade detonated, a column of smoke punching into the air as a hundred alarms sounded as one, a dull ringing that woke everyone on the street.
Orlova turned, looking at the display, then stepped through the open door into the bar, a crowd of drunken revelers cheering at the fire outside. The three of them pushed through the mob to the rear, out into the alley. Finally, Duvall stopped, panting for breath, as the wail of sirens cut through the air as the firemen responded to the explosion.
“Enough chaos to hold them for a while,” he said. A figure walked out of the shadows, and he holstered his pistol, standing to attention. Orlova turned, and a smile broke out on her face, shared by Kelot.
“Father Flannery,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll be damned.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he replied. “I couldn't be more pleased to see the two of you, but I think we'd better keep moving, or all of this will have been for nothing. We have a safe house not far from here, a place where we won't be disturbed. I think we've got a lot to talk about.”
“The understatement of the year, Father,” Orlova replied. “Lead th
e way.”
Chapter 5
Salazar looked at the holodisplay, picking his way through the sea of stars, trying to decide upon their destination. He'd only have one chance at this, and if he guessed wrong, his mission wouldn't even have a chance to fail. Glancing up at the clock, he frowned. Less than twenty minutes before Random Walk was scheduled for departure. Cursing under his breath, he reached for a half-empty cup of coffee, draining to the dregs, then returned his attention to the starfield.
The Koltoc had surveyed dozens of systems in this part of space, and he could dismiss those immediately. They might have missed a small base, buried in an asteroid like the one they'd commandeered, but he was looking for the pirate homeworld, a place they had inhabited for years, decades. If the Koltoc had found it, they'd have destroyed it, or captured it at the very least. The two factions had been fighting long before the Xandari arrived, and likely would resume their hostilities once they had gone, assuming there was anyone left to continue the fight.
At least he could wipe most of the stars from the display. Naturally enough, the Koltoc had been reluctant to explore this area, no sign of worlds that could be suitable markets for their trading ships and the growing hazard of an expansionist race in this region. A good place to hide. Another eight stars could be dismissed, if only through necessity. Random Walk would never get to them in time.
That didn't discourage him much. Colonel Skeuros had been ready enough to fight, when normally he would expect a group of pirates to prefer the idea of melting into the background, fading into the darkness and waiting for the superior force to pass by. Their core world must be close, potentially under threat by the approaching Xandari forces.
Five stars remained on the screen, all of them with retinues of planets, and there he ended his analysis once again. A hundred times he'd got this far, and it boiled down to essentially choosing one at random. With a one-in-five chance of being correct. Frowning, he tapped for assessments of mineral deposits, but without any actual visits, all of them boiled down to educated guesswork. Theoretically, all of them might support at least a small spacefaring culture, but that wasn't much help. He reached for the coffee cup, his hand missing and knocking it to the floor, the remaining liquid spilling out onto the deck.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory Page 4