Aratas, Celzi Heavy Cruiser, Low Orbit of Cimbrean
There had been such a delay in allowing the small vessel to return to the Aratas that Jen had begun to worry that she might have overdone it with her requests. They hadn’t been particularly onerous; or at least she hadn’t thought so. They evidence of a destroyed pirate base was all they needed in order to show how valuable they could be to the Celzi Alliance.
At some point they’d be able to find and rejoin the pirate group but for now Jen was happy to take money from both sides. Earth hadn’t specified how she was to keep the war going, and taking all that money for doing absolutely nothing may do very little in the larger scheme of things but it was the best she could manage right now.
She also needed to fill Adrian in on that particular requirement, but she hadn’t been comfortable having that conversation anywhere around either Corti; they were both too heavily invested in bringing the war to a swift and final end.
Finally, however, they had been given their docking orders, and Big Bird had been there to meet with them personally on arrival.
“Greetings once again, human warriors,” he said respectfully. “We have provided what you have asked for, and by your leave we shall have your son and the defector shown to their quarters. The pair of you, however, must endure a brief meeting with myself.”
There wasn’t any argument to be made on this one. If they wanted to get the Alliance to trust them they’d have to feign trust in return, and if that trust turned out to be misplaced… well, both Corti were ultimately expendable.
Jen frowned inwardly at that thought; she wondered when she’d started thinking along those lines. Once upon a time even a single loss would have grieved her, as Trycrur’s death recently had, but she didn’t have the energy for that kind of thinking anymore; she might finally break if she allowed herself to grieve for anybody else, no matter how many comforting lines Adrian could whisper into her ear.
Big Bird – she’d have to remind herself to call him Fleet Master Cizziz to his face – waddled along their route just ahead of them. Again, Jen noticed, there were guards – nervous looking guards – but they were outfitted with standard weaponry. Cizziz maintained the protection he was required to have without elevating it to a point where they could deal with human aggression.
That was a subtle sign of his good intentions, if his diplomatic reception of them had not been enough, and this time they were being shown into his well furnished office rather than the sterile interrogation room.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs reserved for guests, “do sit down. We shall not be long but there is no need to remain standing.”
Adrian helped Jen into a chair, which seemed a strange display of gentlemanly behaviour from a man she’d watched beat another man most of the way to death. It was a little disturbing to see the stark contrast between the cold and violent killer, and the man who was trying at all times to show her his better nature.
Once they had seated themselves, Cizziz began to speak. “I will be frank,” he said, “the work you did on Cimbrean was exhaustive, and Alliance Command will be very pleased with the results. I cannot see them denying you the stipend you have demanded, however generous it might be, and it is likely that you will be employed heavily in special operations against the Dominion.”
Jen sensed a ‘but’ coming on, and a shared glance with Adrian told her that he did too. They were not disappointed.
“There was one thing I wished to discuss with you,” he continued. “I don’t know how things are done on Earth – as a Deathworld I expect your actions to be the norm – but civilised beings do not slaughter their enemies to a man. If you wish to remain on my ship I expect you to give your enemies the option of surrender, and to take prisoners where possible. We are not monsters who kill everything just because it isn’t on our side, and despite the fact that the Dominion forces have standing orders to never give up and to never surrender, that doesn’t mean they don’t give up and surrender anyway. There are vast internment camps on several worlds built to contain such prisoners, all considered traitors by the Dominion and all slowly coming to the realisation that they were on the wrong side.”
That had been quite the monologue, and aside from the unexpected admonition over the slaughter of pirates it had also contained some rather important facts.
“Are you telling us that there are planets full of prisoners of war?” Adrian asked. “How can you possibly afford to keep them?”
Cizziz sighed. “There are some corporations who have taken them on as private enterprises. The industries served by the prisoners are very profitable for them.”
“That’s slavery!” Adrian snarled with sudden anger, startling everyone in the room with the outburst. He retained the presence of mind to look sheepish when he realised what he had done.
“Indentured servitude in fact,” Cizziz said once he had recovered his nerves. “They are paid for their work in food, shelter and redeemable vouchers for luxuries.”
There wasn’t much difference as far as Jen could tell, but she kept that to herself and put a gentle hand to Adrian’s arm until she felt the tension leave it. Slavery was a prickly subject with him, ever since he and the other salvage crew slaves had escaped their bonds.
“I assure you that we will offer the choice where appropriate,” Jen told the Fleet Master. “I hope that is acceptable to you.”
The Fleet Master considered this for a moment, and it seemed to be enough. “I can live with that.”
“Was that all you wanted to discuss?” She asked. “If so, I’m sure you can appreciate how exhausted we are.”
“One last thing,” he said. “We’ve just diverted to engage with an unknown vessel we picked up on remote sensors. I would be grateful for your assistance if it comes to a boarding action.”
“Then you’ll have it,” Jen replied, although truth be told she was well and truly over being dropped into combat situations.
“Just so long as we get our rest first,” Adrian added, locking eyes so intently with her that she felt her cheeks began to redden and her heart race.
“Yes, we are,” she agreed. “We’re incredibly tired.”
+++++
Outer Cluster, Celzi Alliance Space
When he had been offering to search for a suitable mining base, Zripob had been far from entirely honest, but what Chir didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Gaoians had such a difficult temperament when it came to issues of morality; they talked about right and wrong and every shade inbetween, while Chehnash were unburdened by such notions and separated everything into things they wanted, did not want, or did not care about.
Right now Zripob wanted the perfect asteroid base, and he did not care about the people already living there. People who had already fled as far as the barren systems of the Outer Cluster were not the type who would be missed.
The inhabitants of such a place were an eclectic mix of races, but all shared the common problem of being unwanted and unwelcome everywhere else. It was usually criminal behaviour, but the reasons varied to simply running away from someone or something, to having the bad luck to be born in a shit hole like this.
The people here were the type who stayed prepared for trouble, however, which meant that a simple assault was out of the question, so Zripob had instead dispersed his scouts on independent missions so that he, like everyone else on this shit hole asteroid, could arrive alone.
“Most people don’t arrive in a damn Hunter ship,” Dargen said as Zripob had disembarked. He was a Gulkur, a tall and spindly arthropod species that typically excelled at nothing. They bred quickly, however, and their kind was not uncommon amongst Celzi Alliance starship boardings in spite of their frailty; Zripob had never counted how many enemy soldiers he’d put down while serving the Dominion, but he knew that Gulkur made up a significant part of their number.
“Most people aren’t me,” Zripob replied with a confident, croaking laugh. It was important for him to look useful, and anyone arriving in a Hunter vessel and laughing about it couldn’t help but look useful. He could already feel their eyes on him, trying to decide how he would fit.
“The King will want to see you immediately,” Dargen informed him as he scuttled after Zripob. “Anyone with solid fighting experience joins the guard.”
That the shit hole was not a democracy did not come as any kind of surprise to Zripob. The whole place was a barrel of pllur, and that meant the zevol rose to the top. Their tyrant may be clever or he might not, but either way he would be what Adrian would have termed ‘a total fucking arsehole’.
“What is your King’s name?” He asked of Dargen. “And his background?”
“His name is Carl,” Dargen replied. “He’s a human!”
The fact wasn’t as strange to Zripob as Dargen seemed to think it would be, although it was some nasty luck. It might be harder to do what he needed to do when the time came, if a human was thrown into the mix, but that all depended on what the human could do.
“A human what?” Zripob asked, and chuckled when Dargen looked confused. “I have known some humans before.”
Dargen considered this. “He knows much of violence.”
Zripob indicated his understanding. Naturally the human would know much of violence, but he doubted that he would be as capable as Adrian was. Any capable human wouldn’t be found out here, lording it over a gang of life’s losers.
Dargen continued to lead Zripob, taking him to a free-standing structure carved from the asteroid itself. It reminded him in many ways of the palace on Cimbrean, but without any of the beauty or fine workmanship; there could be no doubt that this was certainly the home of a king of thugs.
The man that awaited them was no less the disappointment; the tyrant, King Carl the utter disgrace to his own species, sat atop his throne of cut stone gorging himself upon enough food to feed anyone else – save another human – for months, and unlike Adrian his body was no lean fighting machine, but was round and flabby and frequently soiled.
He looked up from his dish – some sort of disgusting mixture of meat and other meat – and attempted to stare Zripob down, ignoring Dargen altogether. “You’re the one who arrived in the Hunter ship, then?”
“I am,” Zripob admitted. He refused to be intimidated by an oaf like this. “Until recently I was part of a group who worked to seize such ships.”
That got a raised eyebrow. Doubt, or maybe surprise, Zripob recalled.
“You’d better not be lying to me!” King Carl said, standing up and letting his shirt rain scraps. “Humans can sense lies, you know!”
No they can’t, Zripob thought, and not this man especially; he was not fully aware of the extent of human abilities, but that particular one would not have escaped his notice. This man was posturing, lying to help ensure his ‘rule’ went undisturbed. Zripob discovered he wanted this man to die.
No problem.
“I did not know that,” Zripob played along. “But as that is the case you will know that I’m telling the truth.”
That seemed to flummox the oaf king, and in a way Zripob took it as a good sign that not all humans were like Adrian or Jen, or even Darragh. Some were like this man: easily handled.
“Then why have you come here?” the oaf asked. “Why come to Carltopia?”
Even Zripob, who tried not to bother too much with things like the quality of names – with a name like Zripob he was hardly in a position to judge – found himself cringing at the name. It was almost a mercy to put this place out of its misery.
“I came here because the rest of my group died and I had nowhere else to go,” Zripob lied. “Carltopia happened to be the closest place that doesn’t give a crap whose side you fought on.”
“And whose side did you fight on?” the oaf asked.
Zripob smiled. “My own.”
That seemed to please the oaf, because he barked loudly in what Zripob had come to recognise as a laugh.
“Then you are welcome in Carltopia,” the oaf king said magnanimously, sweeping his hand out like he was being generous in offering Zripob a place in this shit hole of a colony.
“Thank you, King Carl,” Zripob replied graciously. “May I also request a position amongst your guards? I am a soldier of some renown.”
“The captain of my guards shall be the judge of that,” the oaf said airily. “Dargen shall take you to him, won’t you Dargen?”
Dargen bowed, as best as a creature of his configuration was able to at least, and muttered something obedient.
And with that the oaf king returned to his foul meal.
+++++
Aratas, Celzi Heavy Cruiser, Far Reaches
The first thing that Jen did upon entering the room she was to share with Adrian was to lock the door. The second thing was to ensure that the room was a Corti-free zone. The third was to grab Adrian by his shirt and tear the light fabric apart with her bare hands.
“Alone at last,” she said, running her hands through his chest hair.
She kissed him hotly, and he responded in kind; her own shirt was gone within seconds and his mouth caressing the nape of her neck as her eyes rolled back in pleasure.
He grabbed her with his arms, wrapping them around her waist, as she wrapped her legs around his. Moments later they discovered that alien cabinets shattered when you slammed two partially naked human bodies into them, but neither of them were hurt and were soon laughing on the floor as they fumbled with the rest of their clothing.
Jen teased at Adrian’s ear with her tongue, delighting at the way it made him respond, and kissed him again with fervour as his hands greedily caressed her.
“Finally,” Adrian gasped between kisses, and Jen could not have agreed more.
That was the moment when the doorbell rang, a single chime triggered by the door control panel on the other side.
They both froze, eyes on the door, hoping that whoever it was would just fuck off and die or did whatever they needed to do to just go away. Now was certainly not the time for anything other than what was about to happen between two incredibly aroused humans.
There was another ring. They looked at each other, the agony of wanting to avoid whatever was about to come writ on both their faces.
Jen closed her eyes in frustration, got control of herself, and walked over to the door. She touched the button that activated the intercom. “Yes?” she asked irritably, glancing back at Adrian to indicate he was to stay exactly where he was.
“Is everything alright?” Askit asked. “We heard a crashing sound.”
Jen exhaled sharply through her nose before replying. “Yes,” she said sweetly. “We’re just getting some rest.”
“You’ll need to wait for that,” Askit replied, “the ship has just come under attack.”
Worst. Possible. Time. It was like the aliens had a sense of when Jen’s love life was taking a turn for the better and just decided to crash her party any time it happened.
“We’re in a fleet, Askit!” Jen said impatiently.
“I know we are,” he replied, “and every ship just got hit by the same pods that hit the space station. I think it’s fair to say that somebody knows we’re here, and wants us dead.”
Adrian grimaced, awkwardly adjusting himself so that he could stand more comfortably. “Askit,” he called out. “Tell the Fleet Master we’re going to need some weapons.”
“And some new goddamned clothes,” Jen added, fuming at the awful timing.
“What happened to your clothes?” Askit queried. “They were fine when we landed…”
Jen’s face flushed red, both angry and embarrassed at once. “Just make sure we fucking get them, do you hear!?”
+++++
Cizziz had ordered the humans be given exactly what they asked for; he was too busy to argue and quite frankly he needed their help. Something was roaming his ship, slaughtering his people, and nobody had any notion of what it was.
From what he had heard, the same was true of the other ships as well. He didn’t know if this was a new type of Hunter attack – although the vessel that had launched the pods had not seemed styled after their normal vessels – or something entirely new.
He had the disturbing feeling that this was something new, however, and that meant that he had no idea what he could do to fix it. All he was getting was reports of crewmen being found dead, and no reports of anyone actually seeing what was responsible, or why it was even happening in the first place.
“Xova,” he asked, “what do the internal scans show?”
“I’m getting some good results from the bio-feedback monitors,” she replied, tapping through the information. “When combined with the locators, we can pinpoint who is being killed where, and determine the scale of the threat we’re facing.”
“That is hardly good news, Adjutant,” he replied dryly. “At least tell me what you’ve determined.”
“Most likely this is a single hostile, or group of hostiles,” she said, “it seems to be moving towards the control systems.”
“It’s trying to disable the ship?” Cizziz asked in alarm. “Get squads in place to defend it!”
“I’ve already attempted that twice,” she snapped back. “Those squads are both dead now!”
“And none of them could report?” Cizziz asked, finding that extremely unlikely. Soldiers were trained to report the presence of an enemy they could not defeat, to give as many details of it that they possibly could before they were taken, so that those next sent against it could have a better chance.
“I received some screaming,” Xova replied. “I found it didn’t help.”
“Let me hear it,” Cizziz instructed, and shortly found the sounds of mean screaming for help to be unsettling instead of informative.
“One more thing,” Xova said. “The humans are now on the move.”
“Then let us hope they can handle it,” Cizziz said grimly, “as they last reported that they were exceedingly fatigued.”
Cizziz could only pray that their bodies would hold out long enough to save them all.