by L. E. Thomas
“But what happened to him?” She shook her head. “His ship was not hit by enemy fire.”
Glancing at the Marines, Rampa took a step toward her. “Two refused to engage the enemy, so his implant detonated. His Interceptor was brought back to the ARC by remote.” He studied her, an odd expression on his face mixing concern and dominance. “The ultimate punishment for treason is death. I told you that.”
I hate you. I would kill you if I could. “Of course, Captain.”
He placed his hand on Ryker’s shoulder and squeezed. “Excellent. Walk with me.”
Filing in beside Rampa, she marched past Nicholas Pavlosky. The crew had removed his helmet. Clenching her jaw, she fought back the urge to scream.
His eyes were filled with blood, crimson tears running down his face. The implant must have liquefied his brain—and the same implant was currently inside her head. Nicholas’ face was frozen in a state of fear, his eyebrows raised. But the pain was over for him. Rampa and the Zahlian Empire couldn’t touch him.
Rampa led her into a briefing room and ordered the guards to stay outside. She glared at him as the hatch closed behind.
“Other than a moment of hesitation,” he said, glancing down at his tablet, “you did very well out there. I’ve rarely seen a pilot so quickly dispatch an enemy. You have incredible skills. I look forward to seeing you progress in our ranks.”
Pursing her lips, she nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
“So, you must see now.”
Ryker frowned. “See what, sir?”
“The power of the Zahl, of course.”
I want to see you fall. “Of course, Captain.”
“In time, you will come to love the Zahl as I do.”
I would like to kill you. “Yes, Captain.”
As a twinge of nausea stabbed in her gut, Rampa tilted his head as if assessing her. She maintained eye contact, forcing images of his demise from her mind.
“Securing the planet below is proceeding as planned,” he said, looking at his tablet. “We secured the capitals of all primary indigenous factions and obliterated all organized defense. An announcement is being made as we speak to the remaining natives to offer them peace if they lay down their arms. Many usually take us up on the offer and join as local Zahlian Police.”
Ryker chewed on the inside of her mouth, unsure if she should ask her next question. “Captain, why would they help control their own people?”
“Ah, loyalty is a fickle thing in the face of power.” He shrugged. “Joining our local police force grants them access to our technology and some of our weaponry. It gives them a chance to carry out vengeance on their political enemies or settle feuds going back generations.”
She swallowed. “Will that work?”
“It always does.” He sat back on the desk, his blue eyes still on her. “The battle for NPT-six-two-three is over, Ryker. Within a month at most, the guerrilla forces undoubtedly attempting to organize at this moment will have been neutralized, and this planet will join the Zahl Empire.”
“I see, Captain.”
“You played your part well. Now, it is time to show our power among the people.”
Ryker’s lips parted. “Sir?”
Rampa stood and stepped toward her. Placing his hand on her cheek, he leaned close to her. She looked away, staring instead at the wall. He rubbed his smooth hand up and down her cheek.
“You are my most treasured accomplishment, Ryker.” He leaned so close she smelled his cologne. “I have asked my superiors if you could be a part of tonight’s parade through the streets of one of the capitals below. It is a most honored tradition of the Zahl when we welcome a world into our embrace.”
I want to throw up on you. Your stench makes me want to curl up and die. “Thank you, Captain.”
Their eyes met. Her chin quivered as he stared.
“You don’t trust me, yet.” He spoke slowly, exhaling his words. “You will come to love the Zahl, and you will love me as well.”
Ryker’s body shook and trembled. Her teeth chattered as she attempted to prevent her real thoughts from passing through her head. With every breath Rampa took, she wanted to end him. He deserved it for the torture, for the death of Nicholas. The discomfort rippled through her body as she dreamed of vengeance.
“You disagree with my methods?” he asked, sliding his hand around to the back of her shaved head. “You may speak freely.”
Through her rattling teeth, she exhaled. “Ni—Defector Two d-d-d-didn’t have to d-d-die.”
“Oh, but he did.” He moved closer, his hot breath flowing over her face. “He did have to die. He would have jeopardized the entire mission. His betrayal could have cost you your life, so he paid with his own.”
Ryker closed her eyes, blinking a tear down her cheek. Hopelessness flowed over her body, taking over her mind like cancer.
“What do you need from me?” she murmured.
Rampa nodded, releasing his grip on her head. “Shower and clean up. Dress will be formal. The Marines will bring you to my shuttle when you are ready. We leave in two hours, and you will bask in the Zahlian glory while you take part in your first assembly.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
The familiar and uncomfortable twinge flickered through her body as she followed him into the corridor.
Laser burns covered the tall steel structures. Broken and burning road signs written in an unknown language littered the ground, soon to be forgotten like the planet’s cultures and customs. Burnt-out shells of once grand buildings smoked at the sides of the street. Deep craters pockmarked the landscape in all directions. A thick layer of soot and smoke hovered, blocking the sunlight. A vicious fight had raged here a few hours before, but laborers cleared the area of bodies for the victorious invaders.
Ryker found the destructive scene familiar.
The transport carrying Rampa, his three personal guards wearing tight red suits, and Ryker, hovered in line through the streets of the capital. Zahlian troops marched thousands of locals out to line the streets in expectation of the parade, which now moved through the once proud city.
Rampa’s assistant, a man named Daren Suh, injected her with a drug before they departed the Enforcer. Suh said the chemical would allow her to be more compliant during the parade, but Ryker already felt defeated before the drug entered her bloodstream. As the transport moved through the streets, Ryker stared down through heavy eyelids at the faces of the conquered people. She saw a mix of hatred, shock, and hopelessness. A woman stood on a corner, a filthy infant in her arms. Her hair reached out like a blonde tornado, blackened skin lingering underneath her eyes. As her lips quivered, tears streamed down her face. Ryker met her gaze, wishing she could tell her how sorry she was for how their way of life had ended. The transport moved past, breaking her connection with the woman Ryker believed to now be homeless.
From what Rampa had said, assistance would be provided to all those citizens willing to attend re-education classes. He said statistics showed most native people accepted the help of the Zahl Empire. Ryker wanted to tell him this was because the Empire provided no choice, but a ripple of nausea convinced her it was not worth the effort. Still, she knew better than to accept his optimistic notions of what had occurred here on Tarrafa.
Everything making the planet a unique place in the universe had been destroyed. Soon, the people would forget their ways and adopt the culture of the Zahl. With the help of Zahlian teachers, their children’s children would talk about the ignorance of their ancestors and how they had tried to resist the greatness of the Zahl Empire. It would be restricted to even discuss the prior history of the planet, which would never again officially be called Tarrafa for fear of sowing the seeds of revolution into a new generation. Rampa said it would take fifty or so cycles for a planet to forget its history. In some cases, he said, it would take even less time.
The parade concluded in a grand square with burnt grass, toppled trees now blackened and charred, an
d a shattered marble statue. Before them stood a stone structure with three thick columns atop a grand staircase. Ryker figured this was the place she was expected to appear with the other Zahlian officers as the new Planetary Governor began his reign of NPT-six-two-three, formerly known as Tarrafa.
The transport stopped, and Ryker followed Rampa to the top of a large, rectangular platform. As she had been instructed, Ryker stood at attention beside her Captain and kept her mouth shut. He said the punishment would be unlike anything she had ever received if she defied him today, but the drugs had done their job. It felt as if she watched her body ascend to the top of the platform. Glancing down at the flawless crimson uniform with the black buttons shining in the few rays of light splitting the dense cloud cover, she wondered if the native forces would shoot her on this platform. It wouldn’t surprise her. If Lian had been conquered in this way, she would have gone out fighting rather than live as a captor.
Death might be her only escape.
Nicholas Pavlosky wasn’t suffering anymore. It wasn’t enough the young former Star Runner died, though. Rampa said Zahl Agents embedded within the Galactic Legion would make sure Pavlosky’s loved ones would perish for his infractions. If Ryker were going to die, it would have to be in battle.
A heavyset man with thinning hair and red cheeks stepped onto the platform, an expression on his face seeming to signify his disgust with everyone around him. Under his thick ruby sash, he wore a red and black suit with a Zahlian pin on his chest.
Rampa stepped forward, his expensive and artificial grin wide. “Governor Compa, so wonderful to see you on this grand day.”
Compa grunted, his eyes flicking toward Ryker for an instant. “Rampa,” he said with a sniffle. “Damned allergies are going crazy on this planet. Anything your people can do about that?”
“We can do a great deal about many things.” Rampa offered a shallow bow. “I will have my people send something to you right away to help you cope as you begin your first term.”
“Yeah.” He pulled a wrinkled brown rag from his pocket and wiped his nose. “Good day, Captain.”
Compa moved toward the front of the platform and stood behind a podium. His aides provided a microphone and a tablet as they moved around him like mother hens. Beyond the stage, Ryker saw the local population filling the charred square. At the corners of the area, Zahlian troops wearing dark red uniforms sat behind mounted twin laser cannons atop hovering armored vehicles. Even from this distance, Ryker saw the troops’ sneers as they aimed their weapons on the crowd.
Rampa leaned toward Ryker and arched his eyebrows. “Wondering why the governor was so cheerful?”
I don’t care what you have to say to me. “Of course, Captain.”
He tilted his head back as if amused by her obedience. “Compa has been banished to these outer regions for his failures elsewhere,” he whispered as his smile grew larger. “It was quite the scandal. Since his family name holds sway in the government, some say this invasion was authorized just to get rid of him.”
You are sick. All of you are sick. “Very interesting, Captain.”
Trumpets rang out, silencing the crowd. The sound of the instruments echoed down the shell of a city for a moment after they stopped. The wind moved across the area, touching Ryker’s face. She took a deep breath, relishing in the taste of naturally produced oxygen as opposed to the crap on the ARC or inside the Interceptor.
Compa leaned down into a microphone and began speaking.
“People of this world, hear my voice! I come here today to welcome you into the Zahl Empire!”
Ryker blinked. In the past year and thanks to her implant, she had learned to speak and understand the Zahl language. Due to her proximity to the new Governor, she heard Compa speaking the Zahl language. But the sound echoing through the rubble of the city was another language she had never heard.
“Today will be the last day you will hear your language,” Compa said. “From this day forth, those of you who want to provide food, shelter, and other supplies for your family will have the opportunity to attend free citizenship classes to begin your transition as productive members of the Zahl Empire.”
Ryker tuned him out, not interested in hearing the man’s justification for the people killed during the planet’s occupation. She looked into the clouds and saw the circular drones taking video of Compa’s speech. Staring into the cameras, she wondered about the millions of families on this planet watching the broadcast at this very moment. It would be images they would never forget.
Turning back to the crowd, Ryker prayed the speech would be over soon. Perhaps her living nightmare would soon end.
PART THREE
Now
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ryker Zyan memorized every imperfection in the wall. Three small dents about the size of a coin hovered over a scratch in the steel surface in front of her bed. She counted them again. One. Two. Three.
Blinking, she turned away and stared into the buzzing fluorescent light above. Leaning her head back, she felt the cool of the wall. The engines of the Enforcer rumbled deep, powerful. The sound lulled her into a resting state, easing the pounding and discomfort in her head. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of a refreshing surge of sea water surrounding her body. The taste of the salt flashed on her lips. Dimly, she saw Austin swimming toward her—
No!
Forcing the image from her mind, she focused on the water, the empty, lonely water. Captain Rufino Rampa had increased the power of her implant, supplementing the effectiveness with an ever-changing cocktail of drugs. The mind-altering project had been effective. Thoughts of her past life—even the slightest stray memory—filled her with such discomfort, she had learned to push it from her mind in recent weeks. Or was it months? How much time had passed since the occupation of the world formerly known as Tarrafa?
Shaking her head, she sucked in a deep breath of cold, stale air and went back to staring at the dents in the wall. The two Defectors, as Rampa called them, had been sent on daily sorties. The missions blurred together. He ordered them to kill, destroying marauders and other trash from what the Zahl Empire called the Frontier. Ryker had lost her hesitation, eliminating her opposition on Zahl command. She prayed success would convince Rampa to remove the implant and end her suffering. No matter how successful she was in the cockpit, the pain continued.
Last week, she’d woken up in the middle of the night with her sheets soaked with sweat. The surroundings of her dull quarters had been unrecognizable. The implant worked even in her dreams, punishing her for subconscious thoughts of the Legion and her past. The pain always jolted her awake, and she stumbled around the tight compartment in the darkness until it subsided. She wondered if Defector One experienced the same night sweats, the same terrors.
The woman had exhibited strength during the entire ordeal. While Ryker didn’t know her name or where she had come from, the woman possessed a quiet certainty. Ryker found it comforting in a world full of discomfort.
And so it had gone, week after week, the Marines banging on the door and leading her to the briefing room. She spent her days flying with Defector One on endless sorties, mopping up Zahl Space, only to report back to this bland room. In the most recent mission, Rampa ordered the destruction of the lead freighter in a convoy of Frontier refugees who questioned the Zahlians’ right to board and search the vessel. The ship had been unarmed, but the Defectors complied without question. The doomed freighter came apart in a spectacular array of fire and gas. The remaining ships in the convoy no longer hesitated and allowed the Empire to board their vessels. Guilt flooded her mind, but a surge of discomfort replaced the feeling until she convinced herself their actions had been necessary.
Countless times her mind had drifted back to the woman on the streets of Tarrafa, the suffering so tangible Ryker could have reached out and touched it. Death filled the streets; the entire world had burned.
Stop this, she thought. You’re not doing yourself any favors.
/> Standing and clasping her hands at her belt, she paced the room. The compartment’s width allowed only three steps. If allowed, she would have roamed the corridors of this massive vessel and burned off some energy. While she had only seen the briefing room, the hangar, and her quarters, Ryker assumed the ARC to be larger than the Legion Parazonium Carrier. She had no way of knowing for sure.
This can’t go on forever, she thought. It couldn’t. Rampa would either declare the transition to Zahlian pilot a success or he would kill her.
At that moment, pacing in her tiny quarters, she didn’t know which outcome would be worse.
A fist pounded on her hatch once before the wheel turned and the Marine stuck his head inside. Nodding, Ryker stood and adjusted her red coverall. As she had done many times before, she followed the Marine through the corridor of the ARC. The crew she passed no longer cast suspicious stares in her direction. Instead, the officers and enlisted crew members cast impartial sideways glances. She had become part of the team.
The Marine opened the hatch to the briefing room and gestured with his rifle.
“Thank you,” she said, offering a shallow bow as she entered.
Rampa stood alone at the front, a tablet in one hand and a cup of a steaming drink in the other. He smiled. “Come in, please,” he said, glancing at the Marine. “Close the hatch.”
Ryker marched forward and stood at attention. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“I did, yes.” He lifted the tablet as he sipped from the mug. “I was just looking over the report from yesterday’s action.”
The memory of the freighter exploding flashed in her mind. “Yes, sir.”
“Very impressive.” He nodded. “You took out an unarmed ship without hesitation. You have come quite a long way since you first came to serve the Zahl Empire.”
I didn’t have any choice. “Thank you, sir.”
“We’ve been studying your reactions to the new treatments, and we believe we may be reaching our final determination on your status within our ranks.” He paused, staring at her. His blue eyes swept across her body. Ryker shifted her weight, wishing the captain would get to the point. “You have proven yourself to be quite … talented.”