THE FIRST DUTY
Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 9
Richard Tongue
Battlecruiser Alamo #9: The First Duty
Copyright © 2014 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: November 2014
Cover By Keith Draws
All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long
THE ships destroy us above
And ensnare us beneath.
We arise, we lie down, and we move
In the belly of Death.
The ships have a thousand eyes
To mark where we come...
But the mirth of a seaport dies
When our blow gets home.
The Tin Fish, Rudyard Kipling
Chapter One
There was no sensory stimulation in the prisoner’s cell. Grey walls, no windows, the light at a constant level, no smells other than a steady scent of pine piped in through the silent air conditioning. All he had to distract him was a drip of water from the ceiling, ostensibly from a leaking pipe, but he suspected in fact intentional. It landed on a grille, heading back into a constantly repeating loop, one which had persisted since he had been deposited in here.
At first, he’d tried to count it, but given up quickly. He had no sense of time, only measured by the meals he’d eaten since he had arrived – eighteen of them, all identical in every way, and he suspected, served at irregular intervals. It might have been days, weeks, he couldn’t say. His past, his comrades on Alamo, seemed to be fading away as if from a dream he could barely remember, and he tried to snatch at those memories, hold them tight, though he knew safety would lie in losing them.
He’d been waiting to be questioned since he’d arrived, since the helicopter had landed at the great domed city and the guards had taken him through the streets. The crowd – likely stimulated by the encouragement of his captors – had booed and jeered him as he passed through, not a memory he wanted to savor.
The curse was that he didn’t know if he was the only prisoner here from his ship. He’d given his life – been happy to give his life – to give the others a chance, but he would like to know whether it had all been worthwhile. His cell was well soundproofed, not a trace of noise coming in from outside, and even if his friends were screaming at him from the other side, he wouldn’t have heard them.
Last night, he had dreamed of escape, had imagined that Sergeant Forrest and a platoon of Espatiers had turned up, broken him out of the cell, and taken him back to Alamo. He’d woken up just as they stepped aboard the shuttle, and for the first time since his capture, he had cried. Until then he had managed not to give his captors that victory.
Surely they weren’t going to keep him here forever. They’d seek to use him, one way or another, to either sell him into indentured servitude or use him as a bargaining tool with the Confederation. Or even just parade him around for domestic propaganda. This limbo wasn’t serving anyone’s purpose.
During basic training, he’d been given the usual instruction on how to resist capture, but it had almost seemed like a game back then. Both the United Nations and the Lunar Republic – as well as the Triplanetary Confederation, naturally – were signatories to the Treaty of Pallas, pledged to treat prisoners well, lest they become hostages to the goodwill of the other party. He’d almost enjoyed the training on one level, sergeants barking at him, trying to confuse and trick him, but no-one had ever imagined that they would need these skills for real. Back then, no-one had heard of the Cabal.
At least Alamo had given them a bloody nose. He could be satisfied with that much. Local space was littered with smashed starships, a Cabal task force either damaged or destroyed. Whatever else happened, they had managed to deal them a blow that would not be easily or quickly redeemed. The cost had been high, far too high, but ultimately, it had been worth the trip. Nor did he regret coming here; if someone had told him what the price of rescuing the Espatiers would have been, he would still have paid it, and gladly. Though he wished that the dripping would stop.
Then, a crack appeared in the door, a line of white light that ran from floor to ceiling, and he struggled up to his feet as a pair of shapes walked into the room, both of them carrying folding chairs under their arms. Both of them were the same height, one with a prominent hooked nose, the other with a nasty scar under one eye – perhaps the aftermath of an interrogation gone wrong.
“At last we have reached your case,” Scar said with a sneer, while Hook Nose arranged the chairs in a loose circle, gesturing for Marshall to take a seat. With a smile, he walked around to the door, and sat down with his back to Scar, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge the calculated defiance.
“You will I hope excuse the prolonged delay, but we are overstocked at the moment with prisoners,” he continued. “Our records list you as Prisoner Thirteen, so I think that will serve as an appropriate designation.”
“Under the terms of the Treaty of Pallas, all I am required to give you is my name, rank and serial number.”
“Never heard of that treaty,” Scar said with a sneer.
“I’m afraid, Thirteen, that those three pieces of information do not interest us in the slightest. Let me get the preliminaries out of the way first; have you been treated well? Food provided at regular intervals? Any medical issues I should be aware of?”
“Your doctor gave me a full examination when I was brought in.”
“Please, Thirteen, I must have your co-operation if we are to expedite this process.”
Scar looked over, and said, “Some of what we do can have physical side-effects.”
“Would this be a good time to tell you both that I took courses in resisting torture and interrogation theory?”
“Theories are wonderful, but this is the real world now,” Scar replied. “We will break you. It might just take a little longer, that’s all.”
“We’d rather not put you through any of that. If you simply choose to answer some of our questions, then we might arrange for better treatment, more variety of food, even some limited freedoms. Many things are possible with your co-operation,” Hook Nose said.
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Good cop, bad cop. We’ve evidently read the same manuals. Which also make it quite clear that physical torture is essentially useless at providing information that can be trusted.”
His two interrogators looked at each other, exchanging smiles, and Scar said, “Perhaps you will be interesting after all, Thirteen. You see, what your manuals do not make as clear as perhaps they should, is that physical torture, while useless for extracting information, is often very effective at breaking the will of the subject.”
“This is something we both have experience of,” Hook Nose said. “Though I stress again that if you co-operate fully, none of that will be necessary.”
“You will end up doing what we say,” Scar added. “So you might as well save yourself a lot of unpleasantness and time, and get on with it.”
“That’s interesting. You see, I have all the time in the world; I don’t exactly have a duty shift to report to,” Marshall said. “On the other hand, I am getting the impression that the two of you have a rather tight schedule to keep, and it is in your interests to secure a quick result.”
“Not true, Thirteen, not true. We can be here for a month if needed,” Hook Nose said. “Do not doubt that we mean everything we say.”
“We already have much information,” Scar said. “I know your name, service history, place of birth, about your mission...let us just say that we would like you to confirm certain details.”
“Would you.”
“Indeed. For example, we are aware that you were dispatched on a mission to gain intelligence about the Cabal,” Hook Nose said, “and that these orders came directly from the President.”
“Did they?” he replied. “Wow.”
“Further, we know that this mission is not official, that you have not been declared overdue, and that no-one is coming looking for you. You are dependent on our mercy.”
“Why does that not fill me with confidence?”
“We can be merciful, and are inclined to be. If we break you, then you are useless to us. A shattered shell is nothing, but if you decide to provide us with assistance, then you will have the opportunity to enjoy it.”
Leaning back on his chair, he said, “You both have me at a disadvantage. You know everything there is to know about me, it seems, but I don’t even know your names.”
“That isn’t necessary information,” Scar said.
“Why, are you scared of the war crimes tribunal? I know something you don’t, and I’m more than willing to share that information with you.”
“And that is?”
“That when you decide to go to war with us, we’re going to win. Nothing I’ve seen gives me any doubt of our victory, certainly not this comic opera display. If you are going to do something to me, please get on with it and stop talking about it. I’m not going to give you any information just because you ask for it.”
“A pity,” Hook Nose said. “Perhaps Lieutenant Orlova will be more willing to co-operate, or Spaceman Bradley.”
He started to giggle, drawing dark stares from his interrogators, and said, “If you think you are having trouble with me, I’d love to see you tackle Orlova. Yes, I wish you the very best of luck with that interrogation, gentlemen. You are certainly going to need it.”
Scar shook his head, and replied, “I find it hard to believe that you are so unconcerned about the fate of friends and shipmates.”
“I find it just as hard to believe that you have them in custody, but even if you do, both of them are serving in the Triplanetary Fleet, and both of them are volunteers. They knew the risks they were running, and accepted them. Knowing them as I do, I am certain they will comport themselves honorably. Please, by all means, go and talk to them. I can wait.”
The two of them stood up in unison and walked from the room, the door slamming shut behind them, while the prisoner continued to chuckle to himself, trying to mask a growing wave of fear that was building in his gut. The suspicion that Orlova and Bradley might have been captured, that they were not bluffing, was building in the back of his mind; if they were, then his sacrifice had been for nothing. Worse, he would have seen his friends stuck in the same situation as he was.
At least he was giving his interrogators some reason to be embarrassed. He was well aware that his every move was being closely monitored, and hopefully the tapes would circulate for some time afterwards, a thought that gave him a little cheer. If it inspired his captors to greater heights of brutality, in an odd way, that was fine as well. They’d be getting to that stage anyway, it seemed.
This at least indicated to him that he was a special case. The prisoners they had rescued had simply been treated for their wounds in preparation for being sold into indentured servitude, nothing more or less. Freeing them so publicly must have been hard for the Cabal to explain to its people.
The door opened again, and the two figures, fresh resolution on their faces, stepped over the threshold and resumed their seats. Hook Nose stared at him, while Scar pulled out a Triplanetary datapad and started to read, before looking up.
“Let us cut right to the heart of the matter. Where is Alamo?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is a lie. You must know. Where is Alamo?”
“I really couldn’t tell you where it is now. Probably back at Mariner Station.”
Shaking his head, Hook Nose replied, “I find it unlikely that your shipmates would have stranded you in our territory with no way back, no support, no assistance. It is far more likely that you have arranged to meet up at some special location. Where is it?”
“Mariner Station. We’re all going to have drinks together. I’m afraid the guest list is full, though.”
Scar stood up, looming over him, and said, “Where is Alamo? You will tell us, one way or another, so get it over with now.”
“I thought we’d already worked out that information given under duress is worthless.”
In one quick move, Scar slapped him on the face, then yelled, “Where is it!”
Rubbing his chin, he replied, “Losing your temper? Not a recommended interrogation technique. Your friend is no doubt about to tell me how civilized he is.”
“We need that information. Give it to us and we will free you.”
“Out onto the street without a respirator, no doubt.”
“Arrange passage back to your Mariner Station. That is within our power.”
“Tell you what,” he replied. “Take me back, and then I’ll tell you. Promise.”
Another slap echoed through the cell, “I’m glad you find this so funny,” Scar said.
“You are obviously enjoying it.”
He raised his hand again, but Hook Nose looked at him, shaking his head, “This is getting us nowhere.”
“On the contrary. Every moment I delay is another moment my friends can use to get home. So please feel free to waste all the time you want. I’ve got plenty of it spare.”
Shaking his head, Scar replied, “We’re going to have to go to the other one.”
“Which is it this time? Orlova or Bradley?”
“Cantrell,” Hook Nose said, and that gave him a moment of pause. Unlike the others, he knew that Cantrell had been out on the surface, and there was every chance that she had actually been captured. How she would react under interrogation was another question entirely.
“As with the others,” he replied, “she has received the same training I have in resisting interrogation. I doubt you will have any greater success with her than you have with me.”
Shaking his head, Hook Nose said, “Perhaps there is another alternative. One that will not require you to give any information to us, and will lead to your immediate release.”
“And that is?”
“There is a studio at the far end of the corridor. You will read some lines on camera, we will record them, and then you can go home.”
“No.”
“Think about it,” Scar said, leaning over him. “You will not have to say anything that is not true. You have committed crimes against the Cabal, acts that could even be defined as terrorism.”
“We freed slaves.”
“Does your legal code not indicate that you are subject to the laws of the world upon which the crime was committed? We are well within our rights.”
Folding his arms, he said, “I concede that. Feel free to put me on trial, though please spare me the defense attorney. I don’t see any need to waste someone’s time.”
“Our justice system…”
“Is demonstrably poor,” he replied. “There is no need to waste time on talking. I will not make the recording you suggest, not unless I can write my own script.”
“And permit you to place codewords in the text?” Scar said. “Not a chance. How stupid do you think we are?”
“I can only go by my experience.”
Another slap, but he managed to maintain his grin while Hook Nose sighed, saying, “In a few moments, I will be compelled to call my medical colleagues in, and you will be injected with a veritable cornucopia of drugs. I have little faith that they will be successful, and they will have s
evere physical side-effects, but that is the prescribed next step. This is your last chance to spare yourself that.”
“He won’t,” Scar said. “He’s just going to talk himself into a coffin.”
Looking up, he replied, “Then I win, and you lose. My value to my people is greatest with my silence, and we all know that. Perhaps I will talk, but it will take time, and that is the one thing you lack.”
Shaking his head, Hook Nose replied, “I will be leaving now. It will not surprise me in the slightest to see that you have acquired some more bruises upon my return; I fear you have antagonized my associate.”
“It will be a pleasure,” Scar leered.
The door burst open again, and another figure walked through, barking out in a familiar voice, “If you so much as touch him, I will have you shot.”
Scar turned and looked up at the newcomer, saying, “This is our prisoner.”
“Not any more,” the figure replied. “He is now under my custody.” There was something familiar about the voice.
“Since when?”
“Since two minutes ago. Captain Marshall, are you alright?” the Commandant said, stepping forward into the light.
“A few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious.”
Turning to Hook Nose, the Commandant said, “This was stupid and pointless. Your techniques are ineffective at best. I saw the footage, he ran rings around you!”
“Some consider our techniques extremely effective.”
“I would not take the word of the ignorant as seriously as you appear to do.” Reaching a hand down to Marshall, he helped him to his feet. “You are coming with me.”
“Where to?”
“Another secure facility, I fear, though I venture you will find your stay there rather more luxurious than this has been. My apologies for my tardiness; I only arrived in orbit this morning.”
“What about the other prisoners?” Marshall asked.
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