Atlantia Series 3: Aggressor

by Dean Crawford

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Idris replied. ‘And that’s the problem. You cannot act while observing your own performance, Mikhain. You command from a bubble of experience and authority, but you never look at the bigger picture from the perspective of those whom you command.’

  Mikhain frowned. ‘I don’t think I’m following.’

  ‘You, if you had felt it necessary, would have ordered a full assault on Salim’s compound the moment you’d realised that Evelyn was telling you the Arcadia was down there.’

  Mikhain raised his chin. ‘Yes, I would have.’

  ‘And yet you would therefore have left Atlantia with a greatly reduced Marine presence in the face of the great civilian unrest that you also can’t seem to shut up about.’

  Mikhain blinked as he realised what the captain was driving at.

  ‘The civilians would be contained and…’

  ‘It’s not about whether they would be contained,’ Idris snapped. ‘It’s about balancing what you want to do with what you reasonably can do. I need the entire ship on my side so that I can deploy Marines without having to worry about whether the Atlantia will be here when they get back. What you don’t understand, Mikhain, is that while you feel strong in a position of command with squadrons of fighters and platoons of Marines at your back, the truth is that we’re weak. We are divided. We are insecure. One false move, one error of judgement and this whole house of cards could fall apart, especially if Salim even catches a whiff of the fact that we’re only half as strong as we look right now.’

  Mikhain swallowed thickly.

  ‘I had not considered that, sir.’

  ‘No, you had not,’ Idris agreed. ‘Many of the people down there on that planet are our most loyal officers and Marines. Countless others are slaves who have no defence against their piratical overlords and would no doubt welcome our intervention. But if we bombard them from orbit and then launch Marines in an assault, endangering them ourselves and perhaps subjecting them to possible execution from their pirate overlords, casualties from friendly fire and injury from plasma blasts, how do you think they’ll feel about us then Mikhain?’

  The XO stood for several long seconds, and then it was as though his lungs emptied in one great blast as his shoulders sagged.

  The captain watched his second-in-command for a moment before continuing.

  ‘I chose Andaim to act as captain because I know that he has strong feelings for Evelyn,’ he said. ‘Those emotions would temper him, prevent him from going to far in his negotiations with Salim Phaeon. Andaim feels as though he has failed, that he has shown weakness before Salim and that he has weakened our position as a result. In fact, he has strengthened it.’

  Mikhain frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘Because Salim now thinks that Atlantia’s captain can be manipulated, an illusion that I’m happy to maintain. I actually have no intention of bombarding Salim’s compound from orbit – I just want Taron Forge to head down there with that impression, and to pass it on to Salim in his negotiations, to make them think that I will sacrifice people if it’s necessary. I have every intention of recovering Arcadia into our hands and liberating those slaves and hostages the pirates might be holding. You’re always telling me how we should give the civilians aboard Atlantia a voice.’ Idris looked into the XO’s eyes. ‘What would you think the best way of liberating the slaves down on Chiron IV would be?’

  Mikhain took only a moment to process what he had heard.

  ‘Turning them against the pirates, provoking some kind of revolt,’ he murmured. ‘They must outnumber the pirates ten to one.’

  ‘At least,’ Idris agreed. ‘We’re not going to assault the compound. We’re going to arm the slaves and let them revolt together, backed by our Marines.’

  ‘But it’s suicide!’ Mikhain exclaimed. ‘A single platoon down there can’t hope to succed, and we’ll never deploy in time to support them. It’s like you want the damned mission to fail and…’

  Mikhain stared into space as a sudden rush of revelations tumbled down upon him. Using Taron to get Bravo Company’s Marines down onto the surface, the cargo of Devlamine as a draw. Sending Qayin instead of Bra’hiv or C’rairn.’

  ‘You’re switching the crew out,’ Mikhain realised. ‘You’re putting people you do not trust down on the surface and dumping the Devalmine with them.’

  ‘People with no interest in supporting either Salim Phaeon or us,’ Idris replied. ‘Given the chance they’ll flee at the first opportunity, thus weakening Salim Phaeon’s position by provoking a retreat and strengthening our own in the confusion.’

  ‘We’ll deploy as soon as the chaos starts,’ Mikhain imagined the confrontation. ‘Salim will have his hands full trying to contain the revolt and control his own people.’

  ‘And will be outnumbered and then out-manoeuvered by our Marines,’ Idris completed the picture. ‘Our Raythons will control the skies at the same time, without Atlantia having to launch a single missile against the surface.’

  Mikhain’s eyes sparkled at the intrigue even as a terrible guilt and dismay poisoned his innards.

  ***

  XXX

  The whine of massive ion engines awoke Evelyn with a start. She lifted her head from the bed of soft, clean pillows and cushions that were arranged in massive piles around Salim’s throne room, saw Teera and Ishira likewise look up.

  Salim appeared from his private quarters and strode across to one of the broad shuttered windows. He threw it open and the dawn sunlight streamed in and with it a panoramic view of the ocean. There, sweeping in toward the compound, was a freighter that Evelyn recognised instantly.

  ‘The Phoenix,’ Ishira growled as she spotted the craft. ‘That bastard’s the one who put us here.’

  ‘Taron Forge,’ Evelyn acknowledged.

  The freighter swept past the compound and turned in mid-air as it hovered before settling down onto its landing gear. The whine from its engines faded away as Salim stood with his hands on his hips and turned to two Ogrin waiting patiently nearby.

  ‘Escort him here,’ he ordered.

  The two Ogrin lumbered obediently away and Salim turned to two sleepy looking pirates, each with their arms draped around a hybrid.

  ‘Go with them,’ Salim snapped. ‘Taron’s too slippery to be left with those imbecilic oafs.’

  Both pirates grimaced at the intrusion into their slumber, but they both hauled themselves to their feet and grabbed plasma weapons as they set off in pursuit of the Ogrin.

  ‘What are you doing back here so soon, Taron?’ Salim asked himself out loud.

  Evelyn waited until Salim left the throne room, and then she turned to Teera.

  ‘Why have they let him go?’ Teera asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Evelyn admitted. ‘Maybe he’s managed to escape somehow?’

  ‘You captured Taron Forge?’ Ishira asked, one hand draped over her daughter’s still-sleeping body.

  ‘We intercepted him as he was leaving the system,’ Evelyn explained. ‘I can’t believe they’ve just let him go, or that he escaped Atlantia. There must be a reason for this. Stay sharp, the Phoenix may be our only chance to get back to the ship.’

  ‘And then what?’ Ishira asked as she grabbed Evelyn’s arm. ‘Your captain bombs the hell out of this compound and kills who-knows-how-many people? I’m not going to just sit here and let that happen!’

  Evelyn was about to respond but then Salim reappeared, and walking alongside him with his customary loose-limbed stride was Taron Forge, followed by Yo’Ki. The pirate was listening to Salim and chucking on cue, but his gaze was scanning very detail of the throne room.

  Taron spotted Evelyn immediately and she felt suddenly a little odd as the pirate’s gaze took in her flowing robes and excess of visible bare skin. The captain managed to cover his surprise well, averting his gaze back to Salim with what might have been gentlemanly discretion, had Evelyn not been aware of his true nature.

  ‘… and so you see, captain,’ Salim said,
‘things have changed dramatically.’

  Taron allowed himself to look again at the hybrids alongside Evelyn, Teera and Ishira. Erin recoiled away from Salim and Taron as they approached and scuttled for the protection of Ishira’s embrace. Salim barely noticed, but this time Evelyn saw a clearly visible dismay in Taron’s eyes at the sight of a small child fleeing from him. For a brief moment she wondered whether beneath the gruff, cocky exterior there might actually lurk a human being.

  Salim turned as he walked past Evelyn and he slumped onto his throne, one hand reaching down to rest on Evelyn’s bare shoulder.

  ‘I even have a new harem to keep me company,’ Salim boasted.

  ‘You don’t move your hand, you’ll lose it,’ Evelyn hissed as she turned her head and made to bite Salim.

  Salim jerked his hand away and Taron laughed. The pirate king glared down at Evelyn.

  ‘We had an agreement.’

  ‘I agreed to wear a robe,’ Evelyn corrected him, ‘nothing more.’

  ‘It looks good on you,’ Taron said as he appraised her. ‘You should wear girl’s clothes more often.’

  Ishira replied before Evelyn could open her mouth. ‘Try this for size.’

  Ishira leaped up and swung a punch across the pirate’s cheek with a loud crack that made everybody in the throne room wince. Taron’s hand flashed to his face in shock as he stared at Ishira and then at Evelyn.

  ‘What the hell is it with you women?’ Taron uttered to a smirking Yo’Ki as Salim chuckled heartily.

  ‘It looks like we both have trouble with them.’

  ‘That’s for stealing my ship and placing myself, my daughter and my father into slavery for this fat pig!’ Ishira shouted as she pointed at Salim.

  Salim’s mirth vanished and he leaned forward in his throne.

  ‘Your daughter can suffer a lot more, if I choose so,’ he growled.

  Ishira glared at him but she said nothing more as she returned to Erin’s side and placed one arm protectively over her daughter.

  ‘Now then, captain,’ Salim said, ‘with the introductions out of the way, why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve got trade for you,’ Taron informed him. ‘Something that I think you’ll be very interested in.’

  ‘And what might that be?’ Salim enquired.

  Slowly, Taron reached into his jacket and produced a small pouch of clear plastic gel that held tiny spheres of what looked like jewels. Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat as she recognised what it was. Taron tossed the pouch to Salim, who caught it and held it up for closer examination.

  ‘Devlamine,’ Taron said. ‘Some of the purest I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’ Salim demanded.

  ‘For me to know,’ Taron replied. ‘Let’s just say I have a contact.’

  Evelyn stared at Taron as an image of Qayin popped clairvoyantly into her mind. For a moment she wondered whether something had happened aboard the Atlantia that had changed the state of play.

  ‘You only left yesterday,’ Salim murmured. ‘I take it that you have also met our Colonial friends? I doubt that they would have let you through to land here.’

  ‘That’s where I met my contact,’ Taron confirmed. ‘The ship’s command crew and compliment are fracturing. Looks like most of them want off the ship or at the very least away from its captain. One of them made me an offer, and I’m extending that offer to you.’

  ‘Why?’ Salim asked with a smile that conveyed no warmth whatsoever.

  ‘Because it’s good business,’ Taron replied. ‘Devlamine is in short supply, you could use it here and I can get it for you.’

  Salim set the small pouch down beside him on the throne and then interlaced his hands beneath his chin as he regarded the pirate captain.

  ‘Taron, I have hostages here,’ he said, and gestured with one fat finger toward Evelyn and Teera. ‘I have in my possession an entire platoon of Marines from the Atlantia. I can demand anything I want from that ship’s captain and I know that I will get it. Have you met him, Andaim Ry’ere?’

  Taron nodded.

  ‘He’s weak, Salim,’ he reported. ‘It won’t take much to send him over the edge. His crew have no faith in his leadership and from what I heard the civilian compliment are already talking of mutiny. If we get enough of that Devlamine into circulation aboard Atlantia and here among the slaves, complete control will be possible.’

  Salim nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Taron’s.

  ‘And what would you want from this deal?’ Salim asked.

  ‘Sole supply rights,’ Taron replied, ‘a reasonable currency payment in minerals and any goods that will find a market out beyond the Icari Line. I know you have quite a stash here Salim. And..,’ Taron’s voice trailed off as he cast his eye over the watching hybrids and captives. ‘… any fringe benefits available.’

  Salim’s smile broadened.

  ‘Captain, as ever you drive a hard but fair bargain,’ he said. ‘And I can only possibly reply with a single word. Guards!’

  Taron’s smile vanished as twenty or so pirates poured into the throne room, all heavily armed and with their weapons aimed squarely at Taron and Yo’Ki. Both reached for their plasma pistols but Salim shook his head and wagged a finger at them both.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ he cautioned. ‘What a terrible mess you would make all over my throne room, and in front of children.’

  Taron, his eyes fixed on the surrounding pirates, glared at Salim.

  ‘What the hell is this?’

  ‘This, my foolish young friend, is what happens when you lie to old Salim.’

  ‘Nobody’s lying,’ Taron snapped.

  ‘Are they not?’ Salim asked rhetorically. ‘Then, perhaps you might like to explain to me why you have not yet mentioned Captain Idris Sansin?’

  Taron stared at Salim for just a little too long. ‘Who?’

  ‘Hand over your weapons, now!’ Salim yelled as he drew his polished blade and pointed it at Erin’s head. ‘Or I’ll take her head off!’

  Taron glanced at the child, who was clutching Ishira’s robe and hiding from the blade that hovered inches from her throat. Evelyn saw him look into her eyes too, and then the pirate lowered his pistol. Moments later, Salim’s thugs moved in and snatched the pistols from both Taron and Yo’Ki.

  Salim relaxed and shoved his blade back into its sheath as he looked at Taron.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad was it now?’ His gaze drifted to Yo’Ki. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you in your robes, my dear.’

  Yo’Ki remained silent and still as Salim clicked his fingers and one of the hybrids reached out lazily with one arm and flicked a switch.

  A communications link opened up with the Atlantia and moments later an image of the frigate’s bridge appeared. Andaim’s face filled the screen, his jaw tense and his bearing upright as he began speaking.

  ‘Salim, I’m glad that you’ve contacted us. We have news for you regarding…’

  ‘Silence, silence,’ Salim waved Andaim away dismissively. ‘I have no desire to speak or even listen to you. I want to speak to your captain.’

  Andaim frowned. ‘I am the Captain of the Atlantia, and I have the authority to…’ Salim drew a plasma pistol from his waistband, activated the magazine and aimed it at the Marines kneeling nearby. He kept his eyes on Andaim as he pulled the trigger.

  The blast was deafeningly loud in the confines of the throne room and Evelyn whirled in shock as the shot hit a soldier in his chest and blasted him backwards. The Marine landed on his back with blue smoke puffing from a blackened cavity where his ribcage had once been, his face twisted in a rictus of agony as his eyes stared silently at the ceiling.

  A chorus of cries rang out in the wake of the blast, hybrids recoiling from the sight of a dead man’s smouldering corpse. The throne room fell silent as Salim lowered the pistol, his nose screwing up slightly at the stench of burning human flesh now drifting through the throne room.

  ‘Bring it o
ut,’ Salim snarled.

  Two Ogri lumbered into view, the arms of a comatose Veng’en grasped in their massive fists. Kordaz was dragged between them, his chest lacerated by countless strokes of a plasma whip, his big yellow eyes dull and weak.

  Salim stared hard into the camera, his eyes cold as he produced from behind him the thick, glowing plasma whip.

  *

  The homestead was half-filled with beds, each containing the writhing body of a Devlamine withdrawal sufferer. Anxious mothers and angry fathers hovered outside the homestead, held at bay by four Marine guards that Meyanna had insisted protect her staff from the large mob of civilians now crowded outside the buildings.

  Meyanna carefully drew blood from one of the sufferers and marked the sample before placing it in a container with twelve others.

  New victims were arriving by the hour, and Meyanna was stunned to see fearful but otherwise perfectly healthy people walk in to the homestead and admit to being users. Already there were thirty or more people in the homestead, most waiting for blood tests to determine how deeply entrenched their addiction had become.

  ‘There are too many,’ one of Meyanna’s assistants said in a hushed whisper. ‘We can’t treat them all, we just don’t have enough medicine for this. It could take them all weeks to fight off the addiction.’

  Meyanna scanned the faces watching them, eyes dark, arms hugging themselves. Some tapped their feet or chewed their nails or played with hair, signs of deep anxiety. Others had fallen silent as their withdrawal took hold, their skin sheened with beads of sweat.

  It was hopeless, she knew. All of them would have to go through the unspeakable agony of withdrawal, and if they survived to tell the tale they would likely never touch Devlamine again, a powerful antidote to the suppliers and dealers of the drug. But if they all died, the hostility of the civilians toward the captain and his command crew would only intensify.

  ‘We have to be seen to be doing all that we can,’ Meyanna replied. ‘Nobody can ask more of us. Now, go and draw that man’s blood, and then check on that patient’s heart rate.’