Conflict!

by Dale Moorhouse

  “That by itself is the best news I’ve had in a while. Let me know what the ordinance folks find out. As for the prisoners, separate them and put them in isolation cells. Feed them and when they have only taken a few bites, take their food and turn off their lights. Make sure only Mmrrreeowwn or Weasels go in the cells, and all of them must pretend not to understand them.

  “What was the composition of the Elsie crews?”

  “There were no Terrans on any of the Elsies, Ser.”

  Even better, I thought to myself. “Every two decas light up their cells and repeat the feeding and take away then turn out their lights. I’ll be sending you a sound clip I want playing in their cells whenever the lights go out. We are going to repeat this for two cycles and then Johnny, and I are going to interview them. Then we will repeat the process for two more cycles.”

  I searched our music library until I found some music that can be really grating even at low volume and clipped out the long instrumental passages, sped up the tempo and spliced it into a loop which I forwarded to Silent with instructions to play it at one-hundred and twenty decibels. “Let’s see how you like my version of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, shit-birds,” I thought to myself.

  ◆◆◆

  After two cycles of five Terran hours of complete darkness accompanied by loud, harsh sound punctuated by a few minutes of light, quiet and food some of the bad guys are looking like they are ready to talk. I was watching on my monitor as their jailers fed them and notice they seem reasonably comfortable with the Mmrrreeowwn but shied away from the Weasels and it only took a few moments to see why—the Mmrrreeowwn are the food givers while the Weasels are the ones who interrupt the meal and take it away. It doesn’t hurt that the Weasels hiss and growl and sometimes lunge at the prisoners although there was never any physical contact.

  When I asked Silent about it, he explained, “The Weasels noticed early on that the Terrans seemed more afraid of them than the Mmrrreeowwn. They worked with their counterparts to establish a good-cop/bad-cop tactic to push the prisoners closer to the edge. The prisoners see the Mmrrreeowwn as their protectors and the Weasels as a group to be feared.

  “The Mmrrreeowwn are reinforcing that belief by saying things like ’no you can’t eat them until after they have been interrogated’ and other inferences suggesting that if the Weasels were not controlled by the Mmrrreeowwn, the prisoners would be torn limb from limb and devoured on the spot.

  “The weasels have been playing it up by acting like they are hungry all the time. The ones sent in at meal time have delayed their meals so their stomachs growl and they salivate.”

  “Let’s give them another darkness period and then take one out of his cell and march him past the other cell doors. Leave the cell doors open, so the remaining prisoners see him go by then feed them as usual. Johnny and I have decided to have a weasel interrogate the separated prisoner first. Then we send in a Mmrrreeowwn and finish up with Johnny and me. With luck, we may not have to interview them all.”

  “Yes, Ser,” Silent acknowledged. “How do you want the prisoners disposed of when you are done with them?”

  “If it were up to me I’d just chuck them out the nearest airlock,” I responded, “but it isn’t. Put them back in their cells and put them on the ships cycle for meals and sleep. Allow their cells to be darkened to 10 per cent during sleep time and lit to Terran norms during duty time and keep ignoring any attempt on their part to communicate with your staff. We may want to talk to them some more.

  “Oh, and let them have more food before the Weasels go in and take it away.”

  “It will be as you ask, Ser,” Silent said.

  As the interrogation of the first prisoner began, I could see the prisoner wet himself as the Weasel came into the interrogation room. The prisoner was fastened to a padded frame that restricted all movement and allowed us to adjust his position from standing to reclining. I commed Winston, the interrogator, and instructed him just to check his restraints and then exit the room. Winston did just that making no sound other than his light footsteps as he walked around the prisoner and then exited.

  I’ve done enough interrogations in the past to know this guy can hardly wait to tell us everything he knows so I decided just Johnny and me were going in next. I let the prisoner begin to relax, and after a couple of centas, I followed Johnny into the room.

  Johnny rotated the frame, so the prisoner was almost upright then took a chair and placing it directly in front of the prisoner about two and a half metres back, sat. I sat in a chair to the side just out of the prisoner’s sight line.

  Johnny just sat and stared at the prisoner with a slight smile that could suggest almost anything and waited. After a few centas, the prisoner started talking by asking the first question over eighty per cent in his position, ask, “Where am I?”

  Johnny just kept smiling and waited. The prisoner then asked the other question that is sometimes the first one but almost always the second, “Who are you people?”

  “You are aboard the Confederation of Species Vessel, Mother of Glory, and I am the only one preventing you from being thrown out that airlock,” Johnny replied, pointing to a hatch behind him. The hatch really just led to a corridor, but the prisoner didn’t know that. He started shaking a little, and Johnny continued to smile at him but stayed quiet.

  After another centa or so, Johnny asked, “What is your name? I have to get that from you so we can inform your government we have you and where you are.”

  “I know my rights, you have no right to kidnap me, hold me or subject me to torture. I also don’t have to answer any of your questions.”

  “From what I can conclude, you are an American with a high-school education, possibly some college and you are abysmally ignorant of the laws of the land you live in.

  “You were caught in possession of and transporting nuclear materials, in particular, fissile materials—the type used to produce atomic weapons. In addition, those materials were assembled into a bomb complete with trigger and detonator. Last but not least, you were transporting the item through an area placed under martial law several days ago and heading for one of the most populated cities in the country. Those acts, each by itself, makes you an enemy combatant regardless of your citizenship and as such, your rights are abridged.

  “Now let’s begin again, shall we? What is your name?”

  The prisoner was quiet, and Johnny just smiled and stared. I was beginning to think this guy had more backbone than we thought and just pissed himself because his bladder was full and had no other choice. I was about to intervene when I caught a slight hand signal from Johnny and held my tongue.

  “Winston, would you come in here please and bring your kit?” Johnny called out.

  The door opened, and Winston entered wheeling a small table with several items placed on it where the prisoner could see them.

  “Winston, how would you and your mates like to have a couple of legs for dinner tonight? I understand that Terran flesh tastes like pork when it is roasted. In fact, in some South Seas Island communities, humans who are consumed for food are referred to as ‘long pig’.”

  Winston growled and gibbered with excitement, salivating down the front of his ship-suit.

  “Be sure to tie the tourniquets tightly and give him a local before you take his legs, I still need some information from him before he dies.”

  Winston played his part well and with a few deft slashes removed the prisoner’s pant legs and began tying the tourniquets. He made a show of filling a considerable syringe from a large bottle labelled xylocaine and advanced towards the prisoner who was trying to get his eyes to look past his cheekbones so he could see what happened next. With his head restrained the way it was, he couldn’t see what Winston was actually doing.

  Winston proceeded to inject the xylocaine all around the tops of both thighs just above the tourniquets than stood back where the prisoner could see him put the emptied syringe back on the cart. He picked up a large knife and made a poking
motion while using a nail of his left hand actually to press on the prisoner’s thigh. The prisoner started to gasp and cry then his bowels let loose filling the compartment with a horrible stench. He screamed out, “My name is Philip Murray, and I work for President Smith’s campaign! We are being paid to nuke LA and Sacramento to start a war against the Pussies—you know, the Mmrrreeowwn! Please, get that thing away from me!”

  Johnny told Winston, “Ok, I think his tongue is loose enough now. Thanks, Winston.”

  Winston laughed and said, “Anytime, Johnny. Looks like my acting lessons have finally paid off. By the way, you do know I’m a vegetarian, don’t you?” chuckling to himself as he left.

  I was right, we only really needed the one interrogation, although we were thorough and questioned each of the other four prisoners over the next two cycles. By the time we were done, we had enough against Smith, even her most ardent supporters were running from her like she had leprosy. Two cycles after we released the interviews, we heard she was found dead of a barbiturate overdose in her Whitehouse residence. The coroner was ruling it a suicide. While I suspected that to be a cover-up, I wasn’t going to dispute it—I have no use for martyrs.

  18

  Ginger

  ONE OF OUR SCOUT TEAMS found another swarm of the Plague, it is small enough and remote enough from the mega-swarm it likely hadn’t received the command to proceed to Terra, although its current course would get it there in about twenty Terran years anyway. They had one trio of globe ships, and the rest of the swarm seemed composed mostly of the breaker/sorter and harvester ships although there were a few of the Swift Fang clones that appeared to be an earlier model than the ones we had aboard Leviathan. This swarm was about the same size as the one we encountered and destroyed before we found Leviathan.

  We put the final touches on our plan and set out with seven flotillas of a hundred carriers each carrying mostly bombers. Each flotilla was close to five hundred ships total, many of them carrying fuel and supplies, forming a fleet train that lagged behind the fighting body by two light-decas.

  Setting the course and pace is Leviathan carrying the breaker/sorters and harvesters we’d left in space where we captured her. We were only taking half her compliment of ships, replacing the others with a few squadrons of Swift Fangs and Swift Fang clones that have been converted to remote control. Each of our Swift Fangs has two control stations where the operators can fly a pair of the remotely operated ships. Since we decided to scrap most of the drones we captured, we installed Rusty’s remote controllers that performed so well in our first engagement with the Plague in the Centauri system. Since then Rusty had upgraded the controllers to where they were semi-autonomous and hard to distinguish from our crewed Swift Fangs. All of the other ships we were carrying were similarly equipped. The only drones we have along are on the harvesters we hope to penetrate the globe ships with, and they have been wholly reprogrammed by Rusty.

  Missy was flying Tiger as our, and I was commanding the entire operation from her while she was docked in Leviathan. Jase wanted to come along and may show up later but felt he needed to help with some events transpiring on Terra that could impact our success when it is time for the main battle. If Jase can get the situation on Terra straightened out, Thermopylae is at his disposal although Jase really prefers my old Swift Fang Righteous Claws. Jase does admit he likes the galley on Thermopylae better though—especially the scones the cook makes. I’ve noticed the trait in some Terrans that often makes them favour small things while understanding that more significant things might actually be better.

  Our fleet dropped out of FTL about a light-deca from where our scouts calculated the swarm to be and spread our forces out and went dark while we used passive scans to detect the approaching enemy. There was a small star system nearby, and we tried to place ourselves between it and the swarm so any stray emissions would be masked by the star’s output.

  We anticipated the swarm’s propulsion signature would be detected in a little more than three decas and we would have time to adjust Leviathan’s position to play the role of Q ship with our enemy not getting wise to our ploy. Our objective was to capture the trio of globe ships intact and destroy the rest of their fleet or optimally capture most of it intact so we could use the recycled materials for ship production. Jase’s strategy came right out of Sun Tsu’s writings about the art of war where he suggested using the enemy’s strengths to augment your own, in this case, they will be providing us with weapons and the ability to produce more.

  All warfare is based on deception. On Jase’s recommendation when we first met, I read two books on warfare, The Art of War by Sun Tsu and the Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi. The first was written over two thousand Terran years before we met and the other close to four hundred years ago. At first, I thought it a waste of time to read war strategies from times so far gone and by members of another species. It didn’t take me long to revise my opinions, the lessons taught in each forced me to review my beliefs, training and my attitude towards just about everything I had experienced.

  My mate, Tuxedo, was much quicker to understand the value and it was his constant reference to some passage or another that caused me to re-read and then read again, both volumes. I began to understand why Jase thought about warfare the way he did and why he made both books mandatory reading for his Cohorts and later for every Officer and warrior passing through the Warrior Training Complex on Mother of Glory. It didn’t take long for the Weasels and their client races to catch on and embrace the teachings which were as applicable today as they were when written.

  A warning beep from my console forced me out of my woolgathering, I saw our wait of almost a half cycle was not for nothing, and I ordered the implementation of our battle plan. We lit off our fusion torches and fed in the reaction mass that gave our exhaust the colour characteristic of a Plague globe ship under heavy acceleration. It would be a few decas before the swarm would see us and we began broadcasting a message for their aid against an unknown attacker. We deployed a few dozen of the Plague Swift Fang clones to create a protective screen behind us to help sell the illusion of pursuit.

  Rusty came with us to oversee the operation of his remote control system and to gather first-hand data from a Plague swarm. “Ginger, all ships are performing nominally, and the telemetry is coming in strong. I would like to put a few of the harvesters out around us as well. I think it will look a little more realistic to our adversaries.”

  “Go ahead,” I told him, “I think you are correct. Are the transmissions requesting aid ready?”

  “Yes,” he replied, “I’m using some of the captured drones to generate them, and Silky has reviewed them all to make sure there are no harmonics containing warnings or spurious data. We have been trying to update our implants to be sensitive to the specific frequencies the hidden cores use but only with partial success. There is something in the way the cats’ implants have been accepted by their brains that we haven’t been able to duplicate fully. So far, they are the most reliable way to screen for or synthesize messages being sent on those frequencies. If we detect queries directed towards hidden cores, Silky is ready to respond and hold dialogues with the sender. She has practised with a few of her associates, and they tell her they can detect no difference between her transmissions and those of the leader class whom we have captured.”

  “Good, it sounds like we are as prepared as can be for the next phases of this operation.”

  I saw him straighten a little and I could tell from his posture he was receiving a message. He turned to me and said, “The dialogue has begun. It is proceeding on the normal frequencies, it is recommended we move from Leviathan’s bridge to Tiger should we have to respond with force.”

  “Very well, Rusty.” I switched my comms to general broadcast, “All hands! To your action stations! Those of you assigned to Tiger are to return to her at once! Repeat! All hands to your action stations! All Tiger personnel return to your stations aboard!”

  Th
e door to the lift closed as I finished and Rusty and my officers and I headed for Tiger. The lifts had been updated, and the trip took less than five centas instead of the twenty or more when we first captured Leviathan.

  As we boarded the ship, I started getting confirmation from each flotilla leader that they are in position and all of the bomber action coordinators on Tiger’s bridge report their sections are ready to go. With the addition of the Leviathan-Class to our fleet and the vast number of bombers, they can hold we have created a new division, the Section, which represents twelve flights of one-hundred and forty-four ships plus their CAG squadrons for a total of eighteen-hundred and seventy-two of the sturdy little ships. We have twenty sections on board.

  Ours were all the new Hornet-Class which were of the same general configuration we have used since their inception but with much improved shields and defensive weaponry and two metre extensions to each wing to carry more attack ordinance like the Cracker-2 Mark-2 missiles which were faster and smarter than their predecessor and give more punch while only two-thirds the size.

  Each bomber can carry eight of them in addition to goblin guns carried outboard on the wings next to the engine pods. The crew controlling the guns now have their own life support pod, and the pilot has an additional crew member, the bombardier, to control the aiming and firing of the Mark-2s. Once all the missiles are fired, the bombardier will take over the aft facing goblin while the gun crew controls the wing guns.

  I turned to Rusty, and he reported, “So far the dialogue is going well. We have been asked to move in close to the trio of globe ships and deploy our screening ships around them in a pattern that merges with the existing screen. They have asked about our harvesters and seem to have accepted our report of losses as normal. They are asking about our level of raw materials, Silky has replied it is low. The trio suggested we send a few harvesters to each trio member and load up materials and begin rebuilding our swarm. We are dispatching six to each trio member, and they are loaded with our reprogrammed and bomb-equipped drones.”