by Wayne Basta
“I see. Why don’t you go and tell the lieutenant I want to see her.”
The sounds of hasty steps and the brig door opening followed the order. Maarkean still wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but the mental image of one of their torturers being verbally abused and made to run around gave him no small amount of pleasure.
Several minutes passed while Maarkean tried opening his eyes. He suddenly thought how much more unbearable this must be for Lohcja, who didn’t have eyelids. Slowly, vision returned to him, though he had to squint, and it helped to look through small cracks in his fingers.
A tall, intimidating Terran female with light brown skin stood outside their cell. She wore the uniform of an Alliance naval major. On the right shoulder of the dark green uniform jacket hung a gold cord of office, which identified her as the adjutant of a flag officer. That meant her words carried the same weight as the admiral’s.
The major stood there in silence, studying them. Her facial expression gave no hint as to what she was thinking. The only thing Maarkean could derive was a sense of intelligence.
“Ah, Major Anderson, congratulations on your promotion. How can I help you?” a young lieutenant said as she came into the brig. It took Maarkean a minute to place that voice, and he thought his eyes must still be suffering, but the lieutenant was indeed Merski.
At first, Maarkean felt a wave of relief at the sight of Merski alive. That was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of anger. Lohcja had been right from the beginning—the escape attempt had, indeed, all been a trick. So had staging the woman’s death. But why? What purpose had it served?
“You can explain to me how your prisoners got into the state they’re in,” Anderson said flatly.
“When they were captured aboard their ship, they were already in pretty bad shape—” Merski began, but Anderson cut her off.
“That lie isn’t going to work with me. Try again.”
Merski visibly gulped and then said, “The process of interrogation can sometimes be a messy business with uncooperative individuals. They require some more, umm, enhanced techniques.”
“You mean you tortured them,” Anderson said, her voice still unemotional. Maarkean found himself admiring the woman. She had an almost Braz-like detachment.
“Of course not,” Merski said unconvincingly. “That would be a violation of Alliance rules governing the treatment of prisoners.”
“Yes, it would,” Anderson said.
What she left unsaid hung in the air between the two women.
“Admiral Sartori wishes to speak with the prisoners,” Anderson said after a long moment of silence. “Take them to the showers and then get them clean uniforms.”
“Aye, Major,” Merski said, concern evident in her voice. Her face dropped at Anderson’s next command.
“You and Major Barshan will be accompanying me back to the flagship.”
The idea of some justice being delivered for what had been done to him and Lohcja gave Maarkean a small amount of relief. Merski would pay for what she had done, even though he knew her punishment would not match the scale of her crime. But this was far overshadowed by the news that he was about to be brought before Admiral Katerina Sartori. Whatever she wanted with him, it couldn’t be good.
Saracasi watched Commodore Dolan through the video monitor. Previously, she hadn’t paid much attention to the Alliance personnel they had captured at Dantyne, because they were trained officers, loyal to the Alliance, and she had assumed no reliable information could be obtained from them. Then she had learned that Commodore Dolan had previously served as Admiral Sartori’s adjutant. That gave him invaluable insight into how the admiral thought, which she desperately needed.
She listened as Kaars asked, “Why would Admiral Sartori withdraw her forces from Mirthod?”
Dolan just sat there, saying nothing, like he had in response to every other question.
She wanted to get something from him, anything that would help separate the legend that was Admiral Sartori from the woman, but the only sign of emotion the man had revealed had come when Kaars had first entered the room. She had taken that as a sign that he knew the intelligence officer and had hoped it might help bridge a connection.
After more silence from Dolan, Kaars contacted her on a private channel. “He’s not talking, Commodore. Standard interrogation tactics won’t work. He’s too well trained.”
“Keep trying as best you can,” she said.
“Commodore,” Kaars said hesitantly, “I could try more advanced techniques.”
Saracasi frowned. She disliked torture. It was barbaric and rarely effective. She considered the option for a moment but then shook her head. “No, Master Sergeant. The Alliance has rules against the torture of enemy soldiers. We won’t be the ones to cross that line.”
“Ma’am,” Kaars hedged, “they’ve already crossed that line. General Kil’dare was tortured after being taken prisoner in the Olan raid.”
She had forgotten about that fact. Had the Alliance already broken the rules of war, freeing her from any obligation to follow them? At the time, the Union hadn’t existed, so Jairyd would have been considered a terrorist, not an enemy soldier. But did that matter? She didn’t think so.
“We’re fighting the Alliance for that very reason. They’ve abandoned their principles. That doesn’t mean we will. Conventional tactics only. Treat him well,” Saracasi ordered.
“Aye,” Kaars responded.
Saracasi shut down the monitor feed to the interrogation. A few moments later, Fracsid, Jerik, La’ari, and Sheanna came in and sat in the first row of the briefing seats. For the first time, she regretted their earlier decision to convert this room into a pilot briefing room. It had once been a corporate conference room, back when the ship had been a commercial mining vessel. At the time, the conversion had made sense. That had been before she had had a need to sit down and meet with people on a regular basis. Now, instead of sitting around a table for a discussion, she had to either stand at the front, like a teacher lecturing a class, or have everyone sit in a single row, making communication awkward.
“When was your recon report on Enro?” Saracasi asked.
“Just under two weeks ago,” Fracsid said, standing up to join her at the front projector. “Bright Blade checked in while we were in transit to Mirthod.”
“What do you make of those forces?” Saracasi asked.
Fracsid replied, “Based on that report, I would estimate the fleet to be the main force of a Marine Expeditionary Force. One fleet carrier, one cruiser, and several support ships, including at least one frigate and corvette. At least four ships, most likely eight or ten.”
“That’s against our fifteen. We outnumber them almost two to one,” Jerik said enthusiastically.
“That’s assuming one-to-one ship parity,” La’ari said, her tone grumpy. “Our ships are converted freighters and patrol cutters. Those are actual warships.”
“We’ve done pretty well so far. And we have a captured frigate now, too,” Jerik exclaimed.
“Which, sad to say, is still in need of a lot of repairs,” Sheanna added. Saracasi had moved her from commanding the phantom squad to captaining the captured frigate.
“Exactly!” La’ari added. “All of our ships are in need of some kind of repair. I still haven’t tracked down what caused the power spike aboard the Defiant Glory, which means it could happen again at any time.”
“Or it might not,” Jerik argued. “We need to move fast if we’re to keep the Alliance off balance. The trick with the phantom squad won’t work forever.”
“With this fleet, I don’t think that trick will work at all. They’ve got enough firepower to take Audacious on,” Sheanna added.
Saracasi’s first thought was to argue with Sheanna. The Alliance had outclassed them at Dantyne and had still run. If their trick with the phantom squad was now useless, had she ordered that civilian mining ship destroyed for nothing?
No, she decided. Their secret was
safe and the trick could still work—just not against such a powerful enemy fleet. She had intended the trick to help her tip the balance when fighting a fleet of comparable strength to hers. The fact that it had worked the first time against a much more powerful one had been a fluke.
“Sheanna’s right,” Saracasi said, interrupting Jerik’s argument. “The phantom squad would be discovered and those cutters would be torn to shreds against the MEF.”
“So we’re not going?” Jerik asked, disappointment in his tone.
“I haven’t decided,” Saracasi admitted.
“You’d be a fool to attack,” La’ari said angrily. “Your brother let an attack against a superior enemy go forward, and it got my brother killed. You’re an engineer. I thought you were smarter than that.”
The sudden vehemence in La’ari’s tone took Saracasi off guard. The Notha engineer had never been shy about sharing her opinion, but while she had never officially agreed to join the military, she had always conducted herself respectfully. This outburst went over the line into insubordination.
Saracasi’s initial shock quickly gave way to anger. How dare La’ari say those things about her brother? Maarkean had done everything he could to save the fleet, and he had gotten himself captured in the process. La’ari was just a civilian engineer without a bit of military training.
Of course, Saracasi was just an engineer with a handful of platitudes and lectures from disgraced former officers.
While Saracasi sat there deciding how to respond, Jerik barked out a sharp order. “That’s enough, Engineer Mahon. Your tone is unbecoming of an officer on this ship. You’re dismissed.”
La’ari glared at Jerik for a second and then turned to Saracasi. For a moment, she seemed to be waiting for her to countermand Jerik. When Saracasi said nothing, La’ari slouched and then said, her voice almost a growl, “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I have to go finish fixing the ship before you break it again.” La’ari turned toward the exit.
As she watched the Notha leave, Saracasi considered calling her back and dressing her down for that tone. She knew it could be detrimental to military discipline if insubordination and disrespect went unchecked. But she knew La’ari, and she knew the grief the woman felt over the loss of her brother. She could even understand it on a personal level, recalling how she had felt when she had thought Maarkean had also died at Sulas. If she weren’t trying to pretend to be a professional military leader, would she have yelled back at La’ari?
While trying to answer that question, Saracasi forced herself to keep listening to the others around her. Fracsid and Jerik had picked up with planning the next battle as soon as La’ari had left. Sheanna wasn’t contributing anything to the discussion so far and wore a neutral expression.
“Even with Chimopori damaged, if two gunships don’t have to play escort to the phantom squad, we’ll be more than a match for one of the Alliance’s frigates,” Fracsid said.
“And the cutters can form two squads and take on any corvettes,” Jerik said, sounding excited. “Together, they have more firepower, and corvettes don’t have enough to be much of a threat to them. That will keep them off our fighters as well.”
“Which will be a problem. That carrier will have a lot more fighters than we will,” Fracsid said, showing the first sign of reluctance.
“True, but it’s a marine carrier. They’re likely carrying mostly ground attack craft and bombers. Those are no match for space superiority fighters. We’ll tear them up,” Jerik said confidently.
“We should be able to get the Hurricane battle-ready in two days. Together with the Defiant Glory, we can probably take on the carrier itself. That will just leave the cruiser,” Sheanna added.
Saracasi looked around at the three officers. With La’ari gone, the discussion had completely shifted. Now everyone was assuming that they would resume the assault, which was a relief. She wanted to continue the fight, and she didn’t want to have a debate about it.
That thought suddenly made her frown, recalling the battle over Kol. Right before they had launched, she had decided to make Arzesaeth her executive officer instead of Sheanna. She had done so because the man thought differently than she did.
Now, the lone voice of dissent against continuing their offensive had left. Had La’ari been wrong in her assessment? Was this a foolish idea? Or was it bold and necessary?
“No,” Saracasi said, deciding. “We’re returning to Kol to finish repairs on all ships, especially Hurricane. Major Relis, dispatch your squadron for another recon mission before returning to Kol. I want eyes on Enro, Dantyne, Sulas, and Ailleroc. Let’s make sure the Alliance hasn’t come right behind us with another task force.”
Growing more confident with her decision, Saracasi added, “Lieutenant Coramont, contact Phantom squad. Have them make a buzz of Sulas before returning. I want the Alliance to see them. Make it look like Audacious taunting them. Make sure the cutter captains know it’s just a fly-by. Stay at extreme range, and keep it short, but let’s keep the Alliance guessing.”
Sheanna and Fracsid nodded without an argument, but Jerik said, “But Commodore, we have a chance to help free Enro.”
“Not yet,” Saracasi said, trying to make her tone confident. “Major Novastar will be back from Trepon by the time our ships are repaired. Even if he doesn’t bring the Black Market with him, his ship will be back to add to our firepower. By then, General Dustlighter will also have another army force ready to deploy. Then we won’t just be scaring the Alliance out of orbit—we’ll actually be able to retake the planet.”
Chapter Fourteen
As Katerina looked through the one-way glass at the traitor Maarkean, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of sympathy for the man. Bruises almost hid the purple screfa on his cheek, and a deep gash on his forehead bore signs of fresh stitches.
The man had betrayed his oath to the Alliance. By every reasonable measure, he was a traitor and would die for his crimes. But even that didn’t justify torture.
What bothered Katerina the most was knowing that it had been her people who had done this. She had left Maarkean in a brig for months, expecting the intelligence division to do their duty: interrogate him for any useful intelligence and then confine him until he could be tried for his crimes. Instead, they had made him pay for their outrage for the losses the Alliance had suffered in this rebellion. Their other prisoner, the Ronid, had suffered even worse. And it had happened on her watch. The frigate’s captain and intelligence officer and the crew involved would all be court-martialed for this. But Katerina wouldn’t suffer any consequences, despite feeling the responsibility.
Quietly, she berated herself for allowing this line of thought. The torture was a tragedy, yes, but she was here to interrogate the leader of a terrorist rebellion. She couldn’t start that process by feeling sympathy for him—unless she could use it to her advantage.
Nodding to herself as a strategy formed in her mind, Katerina walked over to the door and entered the interrogation room. Maarkean sat bound to a chair with chains, a wide table in front of him. As she came in the room, he looked up, and she felt a sudden sense of familiarity. Instead of the cold look of hatred she would have expected from a terrorist, the look he gave her reminded her of how every new officer she met looked at her. Respect, admiration, worship.
Unsettled by this familiarity, Katerina pushed forward. “Major Ocaitchi, I wish to apologize for the way you’ve been treated. The manner in which Lieutenant Merski handled your interrogation was disgraceful and unacceptable. All those involved will be court-martialed for this crime, I assure you.
“I’m glad to see that your wounds have been seen to. When Major Anderson told me what had been done to you and Mr. Cargon, I was shocked. The Alliance doesn’t torture its prisoners under any circumstances.”
Maarkean remained silent. His initial look of respect slowly started to disappear behind a passive expression. Using sympathy to gain his cooperation might prove harder than she had hoped. But
she should have expected that. Braz tended to hold their emotions close to the chest.
“As deplorable as this situation may be, it’s a good analogy for why I’m here. The Alliance made some mistakes in how we managed the colonies. Much like Lieutenant Merski did with how she treated you. She forgot what it meant to be an Alliance officer. But I haven’t. That’s why they sent me. To try to mend the wounds, metaphorically, between the colonies and the Alliance.”
Switching tactics, Katerina sat down and settled into a relaxed, conversational posture. “Did you know I was about to retire? I had already stepped down as the commander of Second Fleet. I was going to return home to Terra, spend time with my grandchildren. But a few days before I left, we learned about the prison break on Sulas.
“As much as I wanted to continue with my plans, I knew it was my duty to return here to try to stop any more blood from being spilt. I left this sector sixteen years ago after a violent and ugly war, but I left it in peace. When the Alliance called me to help restore that state of peace, I knew I had to come.”
Leaning forward, Katerina looked Maarkean in the eye. “It’s the sworn duty of any Alliance officer to uphold the law and preserve the peace. Some bad apples, like Lieutenant Merski, had forgotten that. You saw those violations of their oath, and I know how it must have disgusted you. They were betraying their oath and duty. You wanted to address that. Believe me, I understand.
“But the way a loyal officer addresses injustice is within the law, not by violating it more. By all accounts, you were a good officer. You even served with me onboard the Enterprise during the war. Why would an exemplary officer such as yourself decide to violate his principles in order to fight others for violating theirs?”
Katerina stared intently at Maarkean, making it clear that she expected an answer. She tried to hide any contempt she felt, instead focusing on the genuine curiosity she had. She really did want to know the answer to that question.