Fire Flare

by Chris Ward

‘I am not permitted to say.’

  ‘I thought as much. And you were recommissioned along with it? Even the Shadowmen need droids, isn’t that right? Wait, don’t answer.’

  The cell door hissed as it opened, and three Shadowmen stood there. With their uniforms on, Caladan couldn’t tell if they were the same ones that tormented him at night, but it didn’t matter. They all looked more or less the same, and all would look even better as a bloodied, blasted mess soaking into the floor.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Lord Al’Kanth has wish to see you. Your interrogation will now begin.’

  There was no point resisting, but having been left alone the night before, this time Caladan could at least walk unaided. With his one wrist chained to both feet, making it impossible to walk in anything other than a back-aching stoop, he followed them, Dundtak rolling along behind.

  Rather than take him to the flight deck as he had hoped, where he might have been able to get some idea of whether or not they were still in Dynis Moon’s orbit or had gone into stasis-ultraspace, they took him to a blank room in which a metal gurney stood in the center.

  ‘No … no, thank you,’ he muttered, trying to back away, finding only nasty-looking electrified spears blocking his way, two of the Shadowmen guarding the door.

  ‘You will cooperate, or you will suffer,’ the first said.

  Then, with a hiss of commands in its own language, droids appeared out of compartments in the walls, took hold of Caladan and lifted him up on to the gurney. They strapped his single arm down, then attached other straps over his body. He tried to protest, but it was no use. He could see it now, the torture they had laid out for him. The nightly torment had just softened him up; now the true pain was to begin.

  Instead, the upper half of the gurney tilted up so he was facing forward. A large view-screen came free of the wall in front and moved forward.

  ‘We require tactical information,’ the first Shadowman said. ‘You will provide it. If you refuse, you will suffer.’

  ‘You don’t need to keep repeating it,’ Caladan said.

  An image appeared on the screen of a large Trillian battleship. An X4-Class, three miles long, heavily armed and fast. Caladan had never been onboard one but the Matilda had once had one on her tail. They had hidden behind an asteroid, using it to mask their transmissions, before making their escape into the nearest wormhole. He smiled at the memory. He couldn’t even remember now why it had been chasing them.

  ‘You held a Level Three command in the Trillian Space Navy,’ the first Shadowman said. ‘Indicate this ship’s weak points. Refusal to comply and you will—’

  ‘—suffer. I understand. It’s weak points, huh?’ Caladan grimaced, trying to recall the wealth of information he had needed to know as a smuggler in order to keep out of Vantar’s torture chambers.

  ‘Hurry up, or you will suffer.’

  ‘I’m thinking, wait a minute. I remember now. In front of the main thrusters there’s a black spot. That’s where the escape pods are found, and there is a section three degrees wide where the ship’s main guns can’t cover. Stay in that three-degree angle and they’d need to launch the fighters or bank to starboard in order to target you.’

  ‘Your information will prove most useful.’

  The screen changed, showing another battleship, this one in a lighter class. ‘The G4-Tiger Class,’ the Shadowman said. ‘Its fighter complement.’

  It took Caladan a moment to realise the Shadowman was asking for information. He gave a slow nod. He had once been imprisoned on a G4 Tiger and got away by stealing a fighter. ‘Seventy-five long-range dogfighters,’ he said. ‘Thirty three-man short range barrage ships and ten five-man interplanetary gunships.’ Then, unsure if he was right about the last, he added, ‘Off the top of my head.’

  ‘Your information will prove most useful,’ the Shadowman said again. Caladan wondered if the monster was actually a droid, before realizing it was struggling with the translation from its native language.

  ‘Next,’ his captor said, and the screen changed again.

  They came one after the other, images of spacecraft, space stations, fighters, and even bases. Each time, information was requested on a particular aspect. Caladan, whose years running from everyone in the galaxy had taught him a lot more than he had ever realized, told them whatever he could. At times, he had to remind himself that they thought he was General Grogood, and not some wily space criminal, adjusting his information when necessary. He also soon realized that they had no way to prove if what he said was correct.

  ‘Next,’ said the Shadowman, whom Caladan had learned was called Tor Al’Kanth. The picture changed to a small dogfighter.

  ‘We wish to know the strength of this fighter’s shields,’ Tor Al’Kanth said.

  Caladan scoffed. ‘I’m a general. Do you really think I bother myself with little ships like this? You’d need to capture a technician. Give me something a little more important, please.’ Then, just because it sounded like the kind of thing a general would say, he snapped, ‘Show some respect.’

  Al’Kanth seemed to believe the charade. ‘Next,’ he said.

  This time the screen showed a major battle station in orbit around Cable. A Juggernaut-Class deep space communications and control station. He had never been on one or anywhere near, and decided now was the moment he should take one for the team, in case the Shadowmen were getting a little suspicious about the freedom of his tongue.

  ‘We wish to know how many X4-Class battleships are stationed at the Juggernaut station orbiting the fire planet of Dobell in Trill System’s deep space,’ Al’Kanth said.

  Caladan gritted his teeth. ‘On my honor I will not tell you. Torture me if you like, but I will take that information to my grave.’

  ‘Very well. You will suffer.’

  Caladan closed his eyes, but the electric shock that ripped through him threw them open. He howled in pain, his bowels opening. As the shock subsided, leaving sweat dripping off his body, droids appeared from compartments in the walls to clean up the mess he had made.

  ‘Tell us.’

  ‘No,’ Caladan whimpered.

  The shock came again, this time far worse. He jerked, vomiting down his front, then soiled himself again. Once more the droids appeared to clean up.

  ‘Tell us what we wish to know.’

  Calling their bluff but terrified he had made a mistake, he said, ‘You can kill me if you like, but I will not tell you.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Caladan tensed, waiting for the shock that would end it all.

  ‘Next,’ Al’Kanth said, and the screen changed. Caladan, soaked in his own sweat and filth, let out a sigh of relief as the droids trundled out of their compartments to clean him all over again.

  The interrogation lasted for several hours. When they finally took him back to his cell, Caladan was buzzing with so much recalled information on the Trillian Space Navy that he wondered if he couldn’t have commanded it in General Grogood’s place. Exhausted, he slumped down on the metal bench, only realising as the guards slammed the door shut that they hadn’t bothered to secure him.

  Perhaps he was earning their trust.

  The following day was more of the same, but this time he was asked to give speculative answers on known ships in the Areolan Space Fleet. Apart from one that had once tried to shoot the Matilda out of the skies following a heist gone wrong, he knew nothing. As he blathered and mumbled his way through each answer, Tor Al’Kanth nodded with apparent satisfaction. It seemed that General Grogood’s assumed knowledge was enough.

  The day after, he was asked for information on various trading and transportation vessels. The next day, land-based craft. And after that, the strengths and weaknesses of various off-worlder races known to oppose Raylan Climlee’s claim to command. Starting to feel like an encyclopedia of hot air, Caladan puffed out his chest and rattled off what little he knew with expressive confidence, adding a generous helping of invented and speculat
ive information.

  At some point they had to call his bluff. He only hoped that before it happened he had found a way to escape.

  Dundtak, taking up his usual position in the corner of Caladan’s cell, always seemed to power down at night. The first couple of times, Caladan, no longer secured, had given the droid’s casing a tentative inspection, wondering how much tinkering he could get away with before he was caught out. When nothing happened, he figured out the location of the droid’s manual override switch, and opened its protective casing. As he had expected, inside Dundtak was a maintenance console, and a small box of tools used for repairs or adjustments. While Caladan had none of the expertise of a proper robotics engineer, a long and hard life on the road had beaten a few basic skills into him. Within a couple of nights he had figured out how to adjust Dundtak’s security threshold, and the conversations became much more interesting.

  ‘How many ships are in this current fleet?’

  ‘Eighty-seven, including light cruisers and support ships. Nineteen major battleships.’

  ‘And this one?’

  ‘This is the command ship led by Commodore Kal Al’Tinth, ninth in command of the Shadowman full space navy.’

  ‘Which is in alliance with Raylan Climlee?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where is our little cat-like lord right at this moment?’

  ‘Please repeat.’

  ‘Where is Raylan Climlee? He’s not by chance onboard, is he?’

  ‘The location of Overlord Climlee is classified information.’

  Caladan made a mental note to have another crack at the security once his interrogation was done for the day.

  ‘Well, where is the location of Raylan Climlee’s current command vessel?’

  ‘It is in orbit around Abalon3, an outer fire planet in Trill System and major producer of trioxyglobin, the main chemical component used in the production of starship fuel. Control of Abalon3 is considered of extreme strategic importance.’

  ‘Is that why it’s there?’

  ‘No. It is there in order to apprehend a prized fugitive who is opposed to Overlord Climlee’s rule.’

  Caladan felt his heart skip a beat. It couldn’t be, could it?

  ‘You don’t happen to know the name of the fugitive, do you?’

  ‘It is highly classified information.’

  ‘Not even the initials?’

  ‘It is highly classified information.’

  It was enough that it had got his hopes up. It had always been easier to assume that Lia was dead, and anything else was a bonus. While he had intended to stay alive as long as possible for his own selfish reasons, now he had another. If there was even the slimmest possibility she was alive, and somewhere as relatively close as Abalon3 … it made escape even more of a prerogative.

  The following day’s interrogation took on another angle. This time Tor Al’Kanth wanted to know tactics. How best to engage different types of enemy and different sizes of fleet. Best practices for orbital engagement, inter-atmosphere, when within an asteroid belt. How to take on a battleship with only a complement of fighters and gunships, or how to chase down a fleeing cruiser. Ambushes on fleets coming out of stasis-ultraspace; how best to prepare for such an ambush in a reversed situation.

  For Caladan, whose preferred tactics were to run and hide, this was the hardest request yet. He blathered his way through it, suggesting angles and flight patterns from his long-ago days as a fighter pilot, before he had become a professional drunken coward. Certain his bluff was about to be called, he couldn’t believe it as Tor Al’Kanth nodded with satisfaction, humming and creaking as though learning from a great master.

  Near the end of the third day of tactics, the ship suddenly groaned around them. Caladan, midway through bluffing a battle plan for a single damaged cruiser against two fully armed Trillian warships, looked up at Tor Al’Kanth.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘We have gone to join the blockade.’

  ‘What blockade?’

  ‘Three days ago I asked you for your opinion on the capture of a rogue spacecraft hiding within a damaged space station. Your response was not to get too close in case they powered up their thrusters and caught you on the turn, but instead to wait and starve them out.’

  ‘Yes … and?’

  ‘Our reverent admiral has taken your advice. We have begun the blockade of the fugitives from Dynis Moon.’

  ‘What fugitives?’

  ‘A handful of prisoners we believe led by your former vice admiral.’

  Caladan felt the blood draining out of his face. While pleased to know his friends were alive, the thought that he had indirectly instructed the Shadowmen on how to capture them made his heart race.

  ‘Beth…?’

  ‘Admiral Beth holds command, we believe.’

  ‘Admiral Beth—’

  ‘Your vice-admiral unfortunately shared none of your tactical skills. Their attempt to hide inside the stricken Trillian orbiter was clumsy at best. It was simple for our engineers to establish that they couldn’t possibly have found a wormhole, because there are none within the vicinity. Our scouts have been thorough. Your vice-admiral’s ship’s flight path was predicted, and there is a ninety-eight percent chance that they are hiding within a rent in the orbiter’s hull. Unfortunately, defensive shields prevent our battleships from getting too close, and Commodore Al’Tinth has requested that the prisoners be captured if possible.’

  Caladan gulped as he said, ‘Why not just blast them?’

  ‘Because it is believed that their visual suffering will encourage you to reveal the secrets of the Trillian Space Navy you have so far withheld.’

  ‘Right. How about I promise to tell you if you let them go free?’

  ‘In such circumstances your information would be considered unreliable. It is already clear that you no longer value your own life. Allowing your comrades to go free would allow you to give yourself over to blatant lies until it is decided that your life be ended.’

  ‘Okay, so if you let them go, you’ll kill me anyway?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if you capture them, you might not kill me?’

  ‘Incorrect. You will die when you are of no more use. However, there is a slim possibility in the single digit percentile that some or all of your comrades will be released.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘We are preparing a team to enter the orbiter and find the hidden ship. Some casualties among the hunted are acceptable, as long as enough survive for you to be coerced into revealing your secrets.’

  Caladan’s mouth felt dry. For the first time, he could barely find the energy to speak. ‘When will your mission begin?’ he croaked, feeling far sicker than he ever had with the electric shocks.

  ‘In one hour. In fact, our revered admiral has requested that you be brought to the bridge in order that you witness the events yourself.’

  Caladan gave a weak nod. ‘I, um, thank him for the opportunity,’ he said.

  28

  Beth

  ‘Paul? Teer? Come on, where are you?’

  Thumping the dashboard with frustration, Beth looked up at Harlan5, who had limped over from his maintenance bay to stand behind her.

  ‘It is no use,’ he said. ‘Their line of transmission has cut off.’

  ‘Which means what? Are they dead, Harlan?’

  The robot shook what was left of his head. ‘It means they’ve lost communication. Nothing more can be confirmed at this stage.’

  ‘But they could be dead?’

  ‘My programming suggests that death is one possibility. On a slightly higher percentile is the likelihood that their shuttle has simply been damaged or destroyed, leaving them stranded somewhere inside the orbiter.’

  ‘Which is a far better situation, isn’t it?’

  ‘A high likelihood of death is significantly better than certain death,’ Harlan5 said. ‘When you consider it from a statistical viewpoint.’<
br />
  Beth gritted her teeth. Screaming wouldn’t help, but it might make her feel better. She closed her eyes, wishing she could both punch Paul in the face and hug him at the same time. This had been his stupid idea. He had showed great courage to drag her away from the precipice of her own almost certain death, only to fly off on a fool’s mission, taking with him the only person onboard who had the ability to repair their damaged ship.

  ‘What are our options?’

  ‘We have thirty minutes before the ultimatum given to us expires. However, my programming suggests that the Shadowmen are not to be trusted. That they are not already swarming all over us is likely only due to caution. They could arrive at any time.’

  ‘We have to cut ourselves free. Do we have droids capable of doing it?’

  Harlan5 shook his head. ‘No. Analysis of the material suggests that it is too thick for our automated cutting machines. The only way to cut through the entanglement is by using the ship’s guns.’

  ‘Blast these things off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is there any way to tell whether what we’re cutting through is dangerous? Whether it might vaporize us within an instant of touching it?’

  ‘No.’

  Beth scowled. ‘Can’t you lie to me sometimes? Give me a little confidence that we have at least one option that won’t find us dead?’

  Harlan5 looked about to reply, then stopped. He looked up at the box sitting on the dashboard.

  ‘My programming suggests that another opinion might prove useful,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we ask the general?’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

  ‘My programming suggests that it couldn’t possibly be a worse option than any of the others available.’

  Beth shrugged. ‘Okay, switch on his transmitters.’

  After a burst of static, General Grogood’s voice started to crackle out of Harlan5’s mouthpiece. The first thirty seconds was an outlet of hatred and curses that made Beth wince. Then, aware that he could finally be heard again, General Grogood’s tone settled into one of general discontent.