Exiles of Earth: Rebellion

by Richard Tongue

  She sighed, and replied, “Thanks Chief. I do appreciate it, but a gilded cage is still a cage.”

  He looked down at the deck, and said, “I know, I know. It’s not ideal. About all I can do…”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  Nodding, he said, “Give it a couple of weeks, and Fitzroy will probably have somebody else in his crosshairs. Other than you and Lieutenant Mitchell. He’s not going to accept being passed over like that any time soon. Though between you and me, I’m a lot happier with Mitch as First Lieutenant.”

  “The Captain passed over Fitzroy?”

  “Uh huh, and it went just about as well as you’d expect! Stormed out of the staff meeting and took out his rage on the first poor bastard he saw. I’ve got two technicians working Waste Reclamation for the next three days.”

  “You went along with that?”

  He shrugged, and replied, “Everyone gets a turn. They just got theirs a little earlier than they’d expected, that’s all.” Gesturing at the nearest junction, he said, “If there’s anything you need, Spaceman Schneider has the watch tonight. I’m going to hit the rack. Watch yourself.”

  “I will,” she said, watching him walk away down the corridor. She made her way to the nearest maintenance locker, almost surprised that it responded to her access code, and pulled out a communications engineer’s toolkit, hefting the weight in her hand. One more skill she’d not had to use in a long time, but at least the work would be dull and repetitive. No danger of anything interesting. She’d have time to think.

  Not that she’d been short of time to think in the cell, but out here, she could start gathering information, and the communications network was a good place to start. She detected the hand of Lieutenant Romanova in her assignment, knowing that Ship’s Security would have been consulted before she could be given access to one of the most sensitive areas of the ship. Making her way to the junction, she pulled the inspection hatch clear, a pile of dead insects dropping out onto the deck. Evidently the inspection had been less than thorough, the last date logged for access more than a decade in the past.

  Reaching into the toolkit, she pulled out a vacuum, sweeping the circuitry clear of dust, wrinkling her nose at the odor of the decay that leeched from the box. She pulled out a probe, connecting it to the system, and sent a quick pulse of data running through it, waiting for the analyzer to complete its task, checking the resiliency of the system. While the diagnostic checks began, she reached for a control panel, calling up the usage rates of the network.

  Back in engineering school, she’d known plenty of hackers, dated one or two of them, and had plenty of chance to pick up a few tricks. She didn’t dare attempt penetration of the network itself, not without setting of a chorus of alarms, but she could see just how much use was being made of it, with specific reference to the battle. Any agent operating on board wouldn’t have missed the chance to take advantage of the chaos to feed information to the Coalition, the enemy ship perfectly positioned to act as a relay.

  Another thought made her pause. Whoever had sent that data, whoever had sabotaged the ship, did so knowing that the odds of their survival were remote at best. They were willing not merely to kill for their cause, but to die for it. Which made them even more dangerous than she had already feared. Shaking her head, she pulled out her tablet, gathering the data and massing it into a form that she could use. It would take access to at least a dozen junctions before she could get a clear picture, but she had more than a thousand to inspect. Enough to give her a perfect view of the data usage across the entire network. Enough, perhaps, to give her a smoking gun.

  A green light winked on, confirmation that the system had completed its diagnostic checks. It was far from perfect, but the yield was adequate, the old equipment more that capable of doing its job. She closed the panel, entering in the new access date for anyone who might come after her, and made her way down the corridor towards the next one.

  Before she reached it, she heard footsteps making their way along the corridor, pounding on the metal deck, and looked up to see Nguyen walking towards her, followed by Zhao, both with beaming smiles on their faces. Zhao walked past her, moving to the corridor junction, kneeling by a power control regulator and pulling open the inspection hatch, his eyes on the passage beyond, with Nguyen leaned on the wall in front of her, shaking his head.

  “Not bad,” he replied. “Congratulations. I don’t know whether or not you meant to, but…”

  “I didn’t kill Lieutenant Hoffman,” she said. “I did what I did to save the ship. Nothing more or less than that. It wasn’t a statement. I just did my duty.”

  Nodding, he replied, “Quite, and that’s not what I was going to say. I’m not surprised they released you with no warning. We’d have held a party for you.” Clapping her on the shoulder, he added, “You’re a hero, Spaceman. Everyone on the ship knows what you did, and they know what the officers did to you as a result. I think there would have been a riot if they hadn’t let you out!”

  “By the way,” Zhao said, “sorry about being the one to take you below. Fitzroy sent out a general call, and I thought it safest if I was the one who answered it. You can’t trust anyone these days.”

  “That’s fine,” she replied. Turning to Nguyen, she added, “You realize that internal surveillance…”

  “Is out across half the ship for a software systems upgrade,” he replied. “Oh, the key areas are still being monitored, but for the next ten minutes or so, nobody is going to hear our conversation.” Pulling out a hypodermic, he said, “This is Nadaline. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

  “Truth serum. You want to find out if I cracked under interrogation.” With a resigned sigh, she rolled up her sleeve, and said, “Get on with it.”

  “No protests?”

  “What would be the point? We’re low on time, and I know that if you aren’t reassured that I’m trustworthy, you’ll turn me from a loyal comrade into a useful martyr. Let’s get this over with.”

  He nodded, positioning the hypodermic carefully over a vein, then slid the plunger, injecting the serum into her with a faint hiss. She felt her vision blurring, and Nguyen helped her to the floor, leaning against the wall, snapping his fingers to attract her focus.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked.

  “I can,” she replied. “This is strong stuff.”

  “It’ll wear off in a few minutes, and it’s untraceable. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Lie to me.”

  “For…,” she began, an ache building in her head. “I can’t.”

  “Good. That’s good. What did Lieutenant Romanova ask you about?”

  She couldn’t lie. The drug prevented that. Nothing, however, forced her to reveal everything.

  “Wanted to know who the saboteur was. Asked who the rebel leaders were.”

  “Did you tell her anything?”

  “Didn’t know the saboteur’s name. Didn’t tell her who you were.”

  Nodding, he said, “How did you get her to let you go?”

  “Told her what would happen if I didn’t. Crew would protest. She admitted I had saved the ship.” Rubbing her forehead, she said, “Can I have a drink?”

  “In a minute. Did she tell you anything about us?”

  “Wants to find the cell. Saboteur the priority. Has no good leads. Admitted that much.”

  “Come on, Danny,” Zhao said. “We can’t wait much longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone turned up to check on her.”

  “One last question,” Nguyen said. “Whose side are you on? Do you support the Rebellion, or the Tyrants?”

  “I want to bring them down. I want the rebellion to win. I want the people to be free.”

  “That’ll do,” he replied, rising to his feet. “Three days, midnight. Deck Nine, Section Thirty-Two-A. Be there. It’s important.” Looking up, he said, “Come on, Lieng. Let’s get out of here.”

  As the two of them walked away, she looked at Ngu
yen, watching him walk away. She’d known the resistance would do anything, take any steps needed to fulfil their goals, but they’d just injected her with a banned drug, one that even the Watchmen were reluctant to use, and left her sitting helpless on the deck. He might not be the saboteur, but she’d be damned if she let him walk. If the Resistance was as bad as the Tyranny, any revolution would be a waste of time.

  Chapter 21

  Mitchell walked into the Mess, looking around the room before making his way to the food dispenser, punching for a randomly selected ration pack. Most of them tasted the same anyway, but the one meal a day enjoyed by the crew that didn’t come right from the algae tanks was still worth tasting. A hot pouch slid out, wrapped in a cardboard cover, and he snatched a spoon from the tray before making his way over to his usual table, Khatri gesturing with his spork as he sat down.

  “What’d you draw today?” the engineer asked.

  Looking at the wrapper, he replied, “Chicken Pesto Pasta. Probably guinea pig. You?”

  “Vegetable omelet,” Khatri said, grimacing. “We’re out of tobasco sauce, as well.”

  “Figures,” Mitchell said, tearing open the packet, carefully placing it down on its gusset. He reached in with his spoon, shoveling out a piece of the non-descript meat inside, and took a bite, searing his tongue. Khatri slid over a glass of water, and Mitchell took a drink with a nod, then looked up to see Midshipman Diaz standing near the table.

  “Come on over,” he said. “Spare seat.” She looked at the officer’s section, empty and deserted, then sat in the vacant chair, placing her ration on the table. Taking a sip of juice, she placed her glass next to her ration, and looked around the room.

  “Why are you sitting in here?” she asked. “And why are you…”

  “I’m sitting in here because I like to have company when I eat, and I’m eating the same food as the crew because it’s the right thing to do. We’re all in this together, and I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate that.” Gesturing at her bowl of salad, he added, “Though feel free to tuck in. I’m sure nobody on the ship will mind.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Back at the Academy…”

  “They taught you a lot of very important technical information,” Khatri replied, “but anything they taught you about long-duration voyages, you’re better off just forgetting. This man is the expert, and I’m happy to go along with him. Besides, algae soup is good for you. All the right ingredients, and it’s never been anywhere near dirt.”

  “I think they wash the salads first…,” she replied.

  “I would hope so,” Mitchell said with a smile. His face dropped into a frown as Fitzroy walked into the room, flanked by a pair of maintenance technicians, Riley and Mizrahi following. The group sat down on the far side of the room, Mizrahi making his way to the food dispensers for all five of them. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.”

  “He’s just getting to know the crew,” Khatri replied, taking another bite of his meal. “Damn, this tastes terrible. Never mind hydroponics, we ought to bring about enough spices and herbs for everyone. Give me two minutes and a few pinches of the right ingredients, and I might actually be able to turn this into something edible.”

  “And he’s got a Midshipmen serving food to ordinary spacemen. I don’t hold with the aloof approach the book recommends, but that’s not how it’s meant to be.” Shaking his head, he replied, “Our friend is putting together his own little power base.”

  Nodding, Diaz quietly replied, “He approached me, last night. Offered me his personal mentorship. With the strong implication that there would be more to him than that.”

  “One day, that man and I are going to have words,” Mitchell said. “I hope you told him what he could do with his offer.”

  “I think I went one better, when I told him that I would talk it over with my grandmother upon my return to Mars.” At Mitchell’s frown, she added, “She’s on her fourth husband, and the first three suffered, shall we say, rather sad ends. Two dead, and the third envies them. There are advantages to my birthright, on occasion. Though I suspect Mizrahi jumped at the chance to gain access to such support.”

  “Damn it, we can’t afford to all hide in our own little cliques. There aren’t enough of us out here as it is. The last thing we need is insubordinate officers attempting to gather their own little power groups.” He raised his voice, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room, and said, “We’re on our own, out beyond the frontier, beyond explored space, and we don’t have space on this ship to hold anyone’s bloated ego.” He glanced at a fuming Fitzroy, and added, “No matter who they think their father is.”

  Fitzroy rose to his feet, kicking his chair across the room, and yelled, “Take that back, you bastard!” All eyes were on him as he stormed towards Mitchell, saying, “Get up!”

  Mitchell turned, slowing standing, and took a step into the middle of the room, away from the table. The two maintenance technicians moved in beside Fitzroy, and Khatri stood behind Mitchell. The rest of the crew moved to the side of the room, whispered conversations in communicators, tablets rising to record the expected battle.

  “What exactly do you propose to do, Lieutenant? You want to have a fistfight, right here in the Mess? Smash a few tables, a few chairs?”

  “I mean to pound your face into the deck until you scream for mercy,” Fitzroy replied. “I’m going to teach you to have proper respect for your betters.”

  “And those friends of yours, are they going to help. You’re that scared that you think you need backup?” Looking at the two technicians, he said, “You’re making a mistake, gentlemen, if you think that he gives a damn about either of you. Striking a superior officer carries the death penalty.” Glaring at Fitzroy, he added, “That applies to you as well, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t see a superior officer. Just an inferior piece of rock trash.” Balling his hands into fists, he said, “One last chance to…”

  “Stand down!” Romanova said, stepping into the room, pistols raised. Gurung and Thakur were behind her, their own weapons in their hands. “Clear the Mess, on the double. Everyone take your food and report to your quarters on the double. This facility is closed by order of Ship’s Security.” Looking at Fitzroy, she said, “I’ll keep order on this ship, Lieutenant, if I have to do it over your dead body. Your call.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Fitzroy asked. “He’s…”

  “He is the First Lieutenant of this ship. You are Second Lieutenant. He is the superior officer. Now report to your quarters, on the double, before I am forced to bring the Captain into this.”

  “This isn’t over,” Fitzroy said with a sneer, spitting on the deck as he snatched up his food, his posse following him through the door, pushing through the rapidly departing crowd. Romanova shook her head, then walked over the Mitchell, watching the arrogant officer leave.

  “That was a pretty damned stupid thing to do, sir. Did you really want to pick a fight with him in public?”

  “I had hoped to simply dress him down a little,” Mitchell replied. He glanced at Khatri, then said, “Are you telling me that there is some actual doubt as to his parentage?”

  “That’s the rumor,” Romanova described. “It was a nice little scandal a few years ago. You didn’t know?”

  “I was probably running around Procyon at the time,” he said, shaking his head. “And even when I was back home, I never paid any attention to anything like that. Interesting, though, isn’t it. It explains a lot.”

  “Lack of breeding?” Khatri replied with a smile.

  “No, a need to prove himself, no matter what.” He sighed, and said, “I wish I’d known that sooner. I might have acted a little differently around him. Now he’s antagonized, and I’ve made an enemy I didn’t have to. Maybe I should think about recruiting a few bodyguards of my own.”

  “You’ve got them,” Romanova replied. “Ship’s Security has your back. I give you my word on that.” Turning to
Thakur and Gurung, she added, “You watch out for this man, until I tell you otherwise.”

  Gurung nodded, replying, “We’ll pass the word not to mess with him. Though most of the crew seem to like you, Lieutenant, which is something of a rarity.”

  “Is that so important?” Diaz asked.

  “You’re going to find that out soon enough, Midshipmen. There’s a reason the Guard doesn’t launch expeditions like this very often. Unpopular officers don’t tend to make it home, and the investigations are usually somewhat perfunctory. With good reason, in a few cases. They’re often used as dumping ground for officers nobody likes anyway. They end up having accidents, and no questions are asked. Bad for discipline.” Looking at Mitchell, she added, “The Captain’s isolated. But he is the Captain, and that still means something. Fitzroy is hated, but feared, which helps. I’ve got the same problem. Hell, I’m Security Officer. That makes me automatically a figure of hate. I’m going to keep your alive, despite your best efforts, because I don’t want to run the risk of Fitzroy in a senior command role.”

  “I’m pretty sure that the Captain feels the same way about our esteemed Tactical Officer,” Mitchell replied. He turned to Diaz, and asked, “How good are you, Midshipman?”

  “Sir?”

  “Can you handle Tactical, should the need arise?”

  She paused, nodded, and replied, “I’d rather it didn’t, sir.”

  “But you will if you must,” Mitchell said. “That’s something.” He turned to Romanova, but before he could say anything, a siren sounded, an emergency alarm, and he raced to the nearest monitor panel, activating it with a wave of his hand.

  “What’s the problem?” Romanova asked.

  “Down the corridor, Storage Nine, exposed to hyperspace,” he said, running through the doors. “Chief, get a damage control team and follow as fast as you can!”